


Tell Her

by mahalicious



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Was kind of angsty but the angst was too strong and now it's full-fledged angst, but its very fluffy at the end dont be scared, don't save me, episode 10 aka the episode that brought too much misery on the world, im a nice person, im miraculous trash, initially a drabble but lmao that was past, ladynoir/marichat confrontation, maybe some marichat who knows who knows, precious babies being happy and hurt, this whole fic plot keeps evolving but i just love it so much, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahalicious/pseuds/mahalicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Chat Noir couldn't take the arrow for Ladybug on Valentine's Day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poem struggles

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Oh look, is that my soul joyfully jumping into the miraculous ladybug bin? I'm trash now? Hahahaha I have no regret.  
> None.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction for the wonderful fandom that is Miraculous Ladybug. I just... Fell in love with the whole show and really wanted to try out writing a fanfiction after reading so many beautiful ones.  
> I'm a french-speaker originally though and wouldn't really know the english translations of the akuma's names (For example the Impostor) so please bear with me
> 
> My speaking french is also a reason to why I'm desperately searching for a beta-reader because hahaha screw the french guy who thought it would be funny to make a syntax that it the total opposite of the english one and I am not confident at all in my writing  
> So feel free to suggest being my beta reader if you like my work and would like to join the adventure. I would be more than glad!
> 
> I'm talking a lot oh my god  
> Alright ahem ahem I hope you'll enjoy my sweet baby Adrien -Careful smooching of his precious self-  
> It'll be roughly 4 chapters long so hopefully, I'll complete it in no time!
> 
> Stay awesome!

 

Adrien was pacing in his room, and his stomach seemed to knot tighter with each passing minute.

  
“Digging the floor, are we?”

  
The little black kwami was sitting on his desk, steadily nibbling on his camembert, and it took Adrien a full second to realise that Plagg, for once, was more interested into his well-being than his cheese.

  
Well.

  
Could be the floor’s well-being.

  
The blonde groaned. “I could’ve had the power to make poems appear out of nowhere! Or the power to be so irresistible she would just… Fall for me in a blink! But no, it had to be bad luck!” At this point, exasperated was an understatement, and the fact he had left his browser on the _Ladyblog_ home didn’t help at all. If not to remind him of his own helplessness.

  
“Who would like such a sappy power?” Plagg sounded genuinely offended but it had the benefit to stop Adrien’s pacing. Instead, the boy simply sat on his bed and put his head into his hands.

  
“You’re right,” he mumbled. “I’m losing it.”

  
“I don’t understand how you, humans, work. It’s just a crush. You like her, you tell her,” the little kwami swallowed the last of the cheese and rolled on his back, tiny stomach inflated from his latest feast. He burped. “Poems and flowers are the worse!”

  
“It’s not that easy. I’m just a flirt for her, a big-mouthed flirt.”

  
“Then how about you give up and stop complaining?”

  
Adrien glared. “You’re not the comforting type, are you?” He then stood up and walked towards his window, watching the parisian scenery stretch in front of him. Hundreds of tiled roofs he probably knew more than his own alien house seemed to bow to the Iron Lady that was the Eiffel Tower in the distance, uneven, imperfect, misshapen in front of its slender accomplished form. He imagined the familiar red-clad silhouette bouncing from one to another and felt his heart skip a beat. _Tell her, huh?_ He pressed his forehead to the window frame and let out a sigh. What if he bought her flowers? He could take her on top of the Eiffel Tower where she liked to sit, dangling her feet in the void. Maybe row them down the Seine under the moonlight and take her to the finest restaurant of Montmartre, get their portrays drawn. He wanted the best artist to catch the starlit night in her eyes, the way her smile stretched just enough to show how dear everything was to her.

  
But that wasn’t her. It was the other girls, but not her. She wanted to run on Paris’ imperfect rooftops, revel in their scars and the home they provided to all of those he and her spent their nights and days protecting. She wanted to sit on the cold tiles instead of some elegant armchair, hear her stomach growl because she spent her energy saving the day than look at some sprout of unbelievably expansive cuisine and wonder how to eat it. She wanted to look at the golden reflection of the Eiffel Tower on the Seine, like millions of little stars that shone in the pool of her eyes. He would think, maybe for the hundredth time, that the night sky should pale in jealousy when compared to how much more perfectly the moon rays lit her skin. The wind would carry her flowery scent to him, play with her ebony pigtails the way he would’ve wanted to do himself.

  
And then… Then she would have that awestruck smile no artist could possibly catch. Looking down at the city - _Their_ city, with the sirens beneath them the only serenade she would never get tired of hearing, rather than some cliché accordion. He would stare at her like the world just stopped spinning around them, heart on stop, and remember that in fact, there _was_ something missing. He would crack a stupid pun instead of reaching out to her and stroke her cheek, just so he could hear her laughter, cristalline cascade long-dead composers probably spent their lives trying to duplicate in vain. She would finally look at him, barely conscient that she just made him part of the only world he longed to with that simple movement. She would wear that falsely disappointed expression on her face and say ‘Silly kitty. When will you understand how awful your puns are?’

  
Oh how he would break inside with just that, urge himself not to kiss her senseless, not to whisper how beautiful she was, how _important_ she was to him, not to hold on her like a lifeline, like she could disappear any minute.

  
_Could I tell her, really?_

  
He definitely couldn’t give up on her. He loved her too much for that. Then what? He had to tell her. She had to know one day or another, or someone else would do it first. And then he would lose her.

  
The thought felt like a blow and he started to panic. He remembered the Copycat and how wrapped he was. He wasn’t her only suitor. And for God’s sake, it was Valentine’s Day.

  
He went again to his restless pacing.

  
“I have to tell her,” he mumbled. “Today.” Plagg only sighed from his spot on the desk, seemingly bored by the boy’s dilemma. Adrien glanced at his computer screen, chest tightening. “It shouldn’t be hard, right? _Je t’aime.”_

  
He didn’t even glance at the kwami, nor did he take notice of his grimace. He just felt a surge of energy run through him. He could do it.

  
He took a deep breath and raised his ringed hand towards Plagg.


	2. Dark Cupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 2 IS OUT
> 
> And I would love to smooch arouria for her amazing beta reading!!
> 
> Angst is coming up next chapter so brace yourself! :^)

The February air was still chilly from the lingering winter and Chat Noir could feel his fingers stiffen from its frozen bite.

Paris was probably the worse at this time of the year. The sky would be blue like a summer's day, but the sun would be icy. The temperatures would drop on a whim, and maybe he would've laughed if there wasn't the constant black ice to watch out for from the inconstant weather. Or less careless people to save from their clumsiness.

It was the time of the year where the general bad luck could nearly compete with Chat's.

But as he leapt from roof to roof, he couldn't care less. His eyes were fixed in front of him, insensible to whatever uncomfortable weather was surrounding him. He had to find her.

When he and Ladybug had become partners, they had realised that their weapons could actually call each other. It had happened on a particularly warm October day while hiding in the shade of a roof, somewhere in  _Roquette_. The sun was setting and the  _Place de La Bastille_ below them was steadily rising in activity. Not that it was dead during the day, but the night was something worth watching in Paris.

The City of Light had something not all cities had, something you could feel, _almost touch_ , in the way people mingled there. No matter where they came from, they would form an almost immediate unity and the bliss that resulted was intoxicating. They say the  _Place de la Bastille_  was the place where everything started, the revolution, the roaring people raising torches and weapons to fight for their rightful humanity, breaking through the walls of France's greatest prison, and today, maybe the protestations had disappeared, but they were transformed into laughters and umpteen languages blazing from all sides. Tourists would take pictures of the July Column, Parisians would head to the  _Boulevard Voltaire,_ where Chat knew the heart of Paris beat on the terraces. Immigrants would open their restaurants and let the smells of the world reach the nostrils of two masked superheroes, somewhere above. It was where he had first asked Ladybug about her powers.

 _'I'm the embodiment of bad luck,'_ he had declared, a grin hovering over his lips.  _'But I'm probably the luckiest alley cat for having such a beauti-fur Lady as a partner._ '

' _How about your bad luck rubbed off on me and I had to deal with the corniest alley cat in the universe, silly cat?'_

' _How you break my heart, My Lady! Being ashamed of such a claw-some partner is impawssible. I'm purr-fect."_ She had laughed and the city lights had reflected on her yo-yo, catching Chat's attention. His smirk had then shrunk into a genuinely curious smile when he talked again. 'Can _your trinket multi-task too?'_ _  
_

She had looked down at the circular object and raised it to eye-level. ' _Well_ _, I never really examined it,'_ she'd said, tapping the top lid with her finger. Just like when she would purify an akuma butterfly, it opened, but it didn't shine like before. Instead, it was a simple pocket mirror, insides of the lid harbouring the same five dots as the outside.

She'd frowned and Chat had chuckled. ' _Well that explains why you're still as exquisite as ever even after a battle, My Lady._ '

' _Very funny, Chat. But I really wonder what's the point into having a mirror here. It's not like I can use my yo-yo when I'm not in costume._ '

Tentatively, she had touched the central dot and Chat's baton had started... Ringing. _  
_

' _Don't even think of calling me every single day, Chat.'_

_'Only on wednesdays and saturdays.'_

But in the end, Chat barely called Ladybug. He preferred finding her on his own, following his instinct and a strange invisible thread that always led him to her. It was a weird and reassuring feeling, to always  _know_ where to find her, even though Plagg had explained to him that Chat Noirs and Ladybugs had always had that connection. Sometimes, he would wonder if Ladybug found it as intriguing as he did, the knowledge that they would always find a way to each other.

In a sudden fit of joy, Chat swung himself around an antenna, grin widening when his gaze met the imposing town hall in front of him. It was a grandiose building, with baroque grey roofs and immaculate ivory walls. The French flag was gaily waving at him from the top of its central tower, surrounded by heaps of little knight statues careful to protect France's liberty with their little spears, and Chat just  _knew_ that Ladybug was there, among them.

And she was.

Running and bouncing in all her freedom, little blur of red on the grey pattern of the roofs. Eagerly, he pulled out his baton and jumped into the gulf, unafraid of the approaching floor as he felt his staff stretch in his hand to stick itself into the marble of the town hall's walls. He reeled, landing on the baton and as if on cue, his Lady was now hanging upside down from a gutter, yo-yo stretched. 

Chat felt his heart flutter when she turned around and stared at him with mildly surprised cerulean eyes. Of course she knew he was coming. Instinctively, a sly smile cracked its way on his face and he reached out for her, collecting her petite form in his arms as she drew back her yo-yo.

"You're right on time, My Lady," he declared. "I need to talk to you."

Her eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. "Now is not the time, Chat! Cupid is-"

He silenced her, pressing a finger against her lips. _Now's your moment, Adrien._  "I promised myself I would tell you as soon as I saw you. Ladybug, I..."

He never got to finish. Suddenly, a winged figure was flying towards them, behind Ladybug, and all he had the time to do was yell a 'LOOK OUT' before plunging forward.

They hit the ground with such force that for a moment, it felt like all the air was knocked out of Chat. Still, he hastily pushed himself on his elbows to look down at the girl beneath him, searching for any sign of bruise or hurt on her face. He was met with frightened blue eyes that were not looking at him but behind him, and before he could turn around, he felt Ladybug push him to the side. Then, everything happened in a blink.

Something hit Ladybug. He saw the jolt the impact had caused her to make. But where there was supposed to be the familiar sizzle of her regenerating outfit after a hit, there was nothing but a faint black cloud dissipating, and he realised she had taken a magical hit for him. He couldn't move, just laid frozen as the information slowly sunk in his mind.

They both knew that although their outfits could take many physical hits, they were totally vulnerable to magical ones. There were more than enough examples of such situations. But Chat always made sure he was the one taking the blow, regardless of how pissed his Lady would be afterwards. He didn't mind being hurt. It was his power after all, to be unlucky and get the hit, then pretend that he only did that because Ladybug was the only one able to cleanse the akuma.

But today, right in front of his eyes, his Lady, his dearest person in the world, had let her luck slip through her fingers and taken the blow because he had been stupid enough not to realise there was an akuma roaming.

She turned her head towards him, and when his emerald gaze met her glacial eyes, all the scenarios that could have played in his mind couldn't top what he had in front of him. She spoke, and he knew his own luck had just spat at his face.

"You  _what_? You love me? Let me laugh."

A smirk stretched her raven lips.


	3. Demise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!  
> Yes I am back from the dead!  
> Truly, I spent endless all-nighters to get this chapter out. I wish I was faster but this chapter is VERY long so I DO believe the wait was totally worth it.
> 
> Once again, I would like to thank arouria for her amazing beta-reading. I swear, she's amazing, i DON'T KNOW HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT HER NOW WTF
> 
> Have a great reading!  
> Don't be afraid of contacting me through tumblr :)  
> It's mahaliciously

The blow sent the bus behind him flying down the sidewalk, taking out bins, benches, and stalls in its way.

Chat jumped aside, not sparing a glance towards the damage, eyes only focused on the general form of the new missile that was being thrown his way. The air was a whirlwind of dust and dirt that burnt his lungs when he breathed and blurred anything eyes could lay upon, making it all the much harder not to just focus on _surviving_ . It didn't help that he was trying to survive the only person he was ready to _die for_.

He lunged again, feeling the ground shake beneath him when it collided with Ladybug’s yoyo, and dashing towards the closest alley for safety. He inhaled, catching his breath, and when Ladybug’s laughter echoed in the chalky haze, he hurriedly turned his head towards the exit of the alleyway. He could discern the glistening of the Seine at his right and the sky, bluer than ever and oblivious to the chaos below it, when he looked upwards. Chat quickly weighed his options. Jumping into the water could give him a few minutes of hiding, but he knew that the cursed Ladybug and the Akuma wouldn’t think twice about destroying the city to find him, or putting civilian lives in danger. On the roofs, he was more likely to be seen by the flying Cupid and Ladybug, but civilians didn’t hang out on roofs, and Chat would be safe from debris up there. Decision made, he grabbed the wall behind him and started climbing.

It had all happened too fast. And in the worse way.

One minute, the sky was blue and the birds were singing, and the next thing he knew, he was running away from Ladybug’s yoyo and flying stones.

She had turned from the sweet and noble hero to an evil cold-hearted madwoman, to something he wasn’t ready to deal with. All of a sudden, she was laughing uncontrollably, throwing her yoyo around with a strength that was nearly as destructive as his own Cataclysm. All around them, the people had started to scream and abandon the cafés and shops, running as fast as they could. All at once, the streets were turning to battlefields of reversed cars and shattered glass, and somewhere in the middle of the chaos, the Akuma had seen the opportunity to give free rein to his powers and arrows had started to rain on Paris, turning the screams to growls of anger and hysterical hatred. Things had definitely gone to hell.

“Come on, kitty! Where are you? Do you really think your luck will let you flee for so long?”

Chat hurried behind a chimney, praying the Akuma wouldn't notice him. _Just let me catch my breath, please_. His breath was ragged and he felt his blood burn in his veins. He was struggling to tidy his thoughts, but he knew he had to come up with a plan. Fast. Before his luck turned on him again.

He couldn’t cleanse the akuma, his powers weren’t of that nature, but Ladybug’s were. He needed to cure her. But how? He had never seen any magical curse lifted without using her Lucky Charm to fix everything. He rubbed his face and a long sigh escaped him. First, he needed to get Ladybug away from Cupid and make sure that he wouldn’t follow them. Suddenly, a crashing noise resonated from the street below and he jumped in a fighting stance.

“I can never trust you!”

“What do you mean you can’t? You’re the untrustworthy one here! You made me believe we were a team!”

Chat raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know the voices, but it sounded like it was an argument between two men. He risked a glance beyond the roof edge and confirmed his suspicions when he caught sight of two boys fighting down the street. One of them had pushed the other against a car and caused the noise that had caught Chat’s attention.

“You promised you would help me! Not that you would betray me! How does that make me untrustworthy??”

“I didn’t _know_ that she was the one you were hitting on! She came to me! And maybe I would’ve reacted differently if you hadn’t _lied_ to me about the whole situation!”

Realisation hit Chat like lightning.

Of course.

All he had to do was set Cupid against Ladybug and have her use her Lucky Charm against him! Hopefully, she would heal and the case would be closed.

He just had to fake the third wheel and say the right annoying things.

Luckily, that happened to be his speciality.

 

* * *

 

Chat glanced down at the dissipating mist, and the silhouettes of Ladybug and the Akuma emerged from the dust, letting him clearly observe his enemy for the first time.

It was a boy, probably no older than himself. He wore black and red and on his back, and Chat could discern huge velvet wings, assorted to his body-fitting suit that was adorned with a broken heart. The Akuma held a bow in a hand and an arrow in the other, testing the flexibility of the string. The arrow itself was quite the spectacle; reddish black in a cloud of black particles that betrayed its poisonous nature, and just like every akuma victim, the pseudo-Cupid had a mask that made it difficult to know exactly who it was, though it was easy to guess that it had something to do with the outcome of his Valentine’s Day.

_Broken hearts should happen to all or not happen at all, huh._

By his side, Ladybug was playing with her yoyo, seemingly annoyed at whatever the Cupid was telling her. Chat felt a pinch in his heart and took a deep breath. He could do this.

He let himself fall from the rooftop and used his baton to land a few steps away from the evil duo, a smug smirk immediately finding its way on his face as he approached.

“Hey, Cupid, nice costume! Diapers aren’t trendy anymore in Olympus?”

The boy spun and pointed his arrow at him, making Chat immediately raise his hands in surrender. The cat boy laughed, “Wow, calm down there, heartbreak. I want a deal.”

“Broken hearts don’t do deals.”

From the corner of his eye, Chat saw Ladybug bring a hand to her mouth to stifle a chuckle at Cupid’s answer. The wicked aura that accompanied the simple gesture felt like a bitter sting to him. He wasn’t used to this new Ladybug yet. But nevertheless, he preserved his cheeky façade, grin glued on his face as he made a great deal of stepping away from the arrow’s sights.

“Wow,” he exclaimed. “Did your mom forget to bottle-feed you?” When he was met with no answer, he went on. “What I mean is that… I’m sure we have common interests. I think you have all the rights to break people’s hearts. I feel you.” Cupid slightly lowered his arrow and Chat took it as his cue to close the gap between them, wrapping a friendly arm around his shoulders and effectively suppressing the chances of being shot. He nodded towards Ladybug. “My Lady here has broken my heart. Very painful considering that today is supposed to be a big day. And you know what? Hers is intact. She doesn’t know what it’s like to gather the courage and confess to the one you love with sweaty hands and a racing heart. What it feels like to end up rejected. _Humiliated_.”

Chat felt Cupid tense, he knew that he had struck a chord. The akuma had opened the door he needed. His grin cracked wider, hiding his threatening sneer as he leaned closer towards the boy’s ear.

“Let’s make a deal, heartbreak.”

“Kitty.”

The shot was thrown before he could dodge it. It was a flash of red and the strange sense of being paralysed, the wire entrapping him was suddenly the only thing he could feel. He fell to the ground and realised in horror that he couldn’t _move_ anymore, panickedly looking up at the smirking Ladybug who now towered over him, fingers tightly holding the stretched cable of her yoyo. She crouched, and the movement pulled on the black wire, tightening its grip around Chat who stifled a gasp.

“I didn’t break your heart,” she purred. “You did that all by yourself, fooling yourself into thinking I could reciprocate the feelings of a dirty stray.”

Her gaze was heavy with scorn and annoyance, frigid as she spoke the words that felt like gashes in his very soul. They ricocheted in his head like a pin-ball, untiredly smashing his heart like it was nothing more but a set of ninepins that shattered everytime they hit home. They hurt. They were unexpected, and they had a ring of truth to them that left too much of a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared up at the foreign new Ladybug that one could simply never imagine, only witness, and she held his gaze like a silent challenge.

“You want his miraculous, right?” She asked Cupid.

At that, the Akuma seemed to snap out of a sort of trance, his words resonating louder than they probably should’ve. “Y-Yes!"

Chat’s eyes widened. _Wait, what?_   "W-Wait! Who’s gonna help you get hers?”

“We have a deal,” Ladybug retorted, poised. “He lets me destroy you and I give him my miraculous.”

For a moment, all thoughts of hurt and pain left the cat boy’s mind as his brain tried to process the situation. Give him her miraculous? She was out of her mind! He tried to move in the clutch of the wire, but his body refused to obey. He bit back a curse and hastily assessed the situation at hand. His plan hadn’t blown up yet, right?

“What makes you think Cupid won’t snatch away your miraculous as soon as you get mine?” Chat asserted, drilling his gaze into Ladybug’s. “And what makes you think Ladybug is trustworthy enough that she will fulfil her part of the bargain? After all, a girl like her rejected you.”

Ladybug’s hand froze halfway to his ring and she frowned, glaring at Cupid as if daring him to believe Chat, but his moment of hesitation was enough to break the semblance of alliance between them. She pursed her lips, and Chat pressed.

“I can help you get her miraculous much quicker,” he went on. “I have cataclysm, and not even all of Paris can hide her from it. I can’t purify akumas, so I can’t possibly betray you. I’ll give you her earrings because I want the same thing as you. Revenge.”

“Shut up, silly cat,” Ladybug interrupted, furious. “We have a deal already, stop meddling in other people’s business!” She grabbed his numb hand and Chat felt her fingers dangerously wrap around his miraculous. He closed his eyes and stopped breathing.

“Stop, I have another idea.”

A sigh of relief escaped Chat’s lips. He shot an eye open and stared at Cupid as he snaked his way towards Ladybug. A nasty smirk was stretching the Akuma’s features and the sight was sickening, but when his fingers reached out to stroke her cheek, Chat could’ve gouged out his eyes for all he cared.

“You still love her, don’t you?” Cupid sneered. “And it hurts, huh? It hurts to _care_ .” He leaned closer so that his face was mere inches away from Ladybug’s, savoring the flash of pure horror on Chat’s face as he struggled to keep a straight façade. “You see, Chat Noir, only weak points hurt, and love _is_ a weak point while hate is not. That’s why hate always triumphs over love, you should understand that better than anyone since you’re so heartbroken. So why won’t you hate Ladybug?”

Chat’s jaw loosened and he stared at the Akuma with wide eyes. _Weak point, huh?_

He thought of his own father who never showed an ounce of love and still managed to take over Paris, worshipped by thousands people. He thought of how love was a weapon the fashion designer preferred to use to manipulate all around him. A son who craved for his father’s recognition, employees who were willing to work all day long, all year long, to keep taking care of their families, consuming people who thirsted for trends, even a mother’s love to get an heir before throwing her out of the picture.

He thought of all the akuma victims who fell in Hawkmoth’s nets because they loved too much and couldn’t stand the disappointment of their failure. How twisted their feelings became and the grotesque form they took to make themselves stronger than they could ever wish to be.

He looked at Cupid who probably had the highest hopes of wooing the girl he loved and felt the most hurt because he loved too much. He thought of how his strength had been his most destructive weakness.

And for a moment, the prospect of letting himself be engulfed by hate was tempting.

If not for the smile that flashed in his mind like a call to order.

_‘Do you sometimes get tired of the nightmares? Of the blood and the screams and the chaos that blaze from all sides in the middle of the night until you wake up alone in your bed?’_

_‘It’s not a question of getting tired or no. They never go away. You just get used to them.’_

_‘... Aren’t you afraid of this? Of getting used to restless nights and still coming every night for patrol? Of getting addicted to our own demise?’_

_‘I don’t mind it if the outcome is worth it, kitty. Nightmares are a small price to pay if I can sit at my balcony and have Paris’ lights comfort me for what I do to protect what I love.’_

Chat inhaled.

Love was a risky bet. Too much to lose for the slightest mistake. But he had learnt with time and patience that it regenerated just as quickly as it could shatter.

It wasn’t in the big things, it was the feeling of the stinging cold of the night against his skin, sitting on the dome of _Les Invalides_ and listen to the uproar of cars beneath, it was eating a dripping sandwich so gross Nathalie would probably jump into the Seine, laughing at Nino’s horribles jokes, feeling the rush of adrenaline as his body hit wall after wall and still getting up again to fight, the scratches and the scars and the bruises and the nightmares. It was the silhouette of a petite red-clad girl that cut into the scenery of an enlightened Paris at night, and her ocean-like gaze that peered into him more than words ever could, like all the bliss beneath them was thanks to him.

It was something that had become a permanent part of him, an unsnatchable part. And he wouldn’t give it up for all the wonders Cupid could ever hold out to him.

But Chat simply smirked. “I hate her. I want her destroyed.”

He probably expected some sort of hurt to flash on Ladybug’s face, some kind of proof that she _cared_ , but the girl remained composed, eyes only sending daggers of annoyance.

Cupid’s voice felt like miles away. “We’ll do something, then. You two will fight. Destroy each other for all I care, what I want is to get your miraculouses from your battered bodies once you’re satisfied. Win-win.”  Chat tore his gaze away from Ladybug to look again at the Akuma who was now holding the girl's hand in a gruesome caricature of a gentleman. “My Lady, let go of him.”

If eyes could kill, Cupid would’ve been long since dead for that the nickname, in his mouth, sounded creaking, disgusting, dissonant. But suddenly, the iron string loosened around Chat and he could move again. He rubbed his sore muscles, suppressing the urge to jump at the Akuma’s throat and slit it with his teeth. Instead, he took a deep breath and reminded himself for the hundredth time that he couldn’t afford to blow up his plan, that he needed to go forth with it regardless of his personal feelings.

Pulling out his baton, he stretched it towards the oblivious Cupid’s legs and felt himself sneer when it collided with the bone and let out an ugly breaking noise. Immediately, he bolted towards Ladybug and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to make it hard for her to pull her yoyo against him. His baton didn’t retract, ready for its master’s action when Chat started spinning it to shield him and Ladybug from Cupid’s violent outburst. The cat boy dashed, as fast as his legs could, and behind him, Cupid screamed. In pain, in anger, in rage.

Chat tightened his grip around his partner, pressing a hand against her mouth to stifle her protests as he rushed down one alley, then another one, and another one. He had to shake Cupid, whether on land or from the air where the Akuma could easily spot them despite his injured leg. With a quick glance around, Chat made his way towards the familiar streets of _Le Marais_ , avoiding the crowded arteries and the cursed parisians who could blow their cover. Finally, they reached a seemingly safe and quiet alley, and he stopped to catch his breath. However the protesting Ladybug in his arms was flailing, kicking, biting and making it all too hard to truly rest. Sighing, Chat pinned her against a wall, bringing her wrists on top of her head.

“Let me go!” She screamed, glowering. “Stop touching me!”

“Sorry, My Lady, but I can’t bear to leave you in the company of that horribly tactile character. I am pretty paw-ssessive with what’s mine.”

Despite the pun, he knew that he meant every single word. His gaze was piercing, hard, full of suppressed anger when it fell on the cheek Cupid had touched earlier. Oh how he wanted to wipe that bastard's trace from her forever. Suddenly, a noise caught his attention and he abruptly turned his head, tensing in anticipation.

A cat had landed on a trash barrel and looked back at Chat, slightly tilting its head in curiosity before sprinting away, making him freeze in the realisation that they only had a few minutes to spare before Cupid caught up to them. A few minutes to bring back the girl he had so desperately fallen in love with.

The same girl who was still trying to break free from his grip and growling.

“I said stop touching me with those filthy hands of yours and let me go, you stupid cat,” she spat. “What’s your plan even? Make me _fall in love_ with you?”

He looked back at her, slightly dazed, and a sly smile stretched his lips. “It could be that.”

She scoffed. “I told you that I’d never like back a failure like you.”

_Ouch._

“Well, if it’s not liking me, how about loving me instead, My Lady?” He retorted, wriggling his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

Ladybug simply made a disgusted face. “Would you just stop it with this abominable flirting of yours already? It’s repugnant. I’m tired of having to smile and act like it’s actually entertaining so as not to break your _poor kitty heart_.”

“What?”

“Did you really think cat puns were enjoyable and romantic? Or did you think they were original?”

He felt like he had just been punched in the stomach and his expression seemed to please Ladybug because her lips formed a malicious line as she leaned closer to his face. “What is it, kitty? You thought I was a nice and loving person? That I truly enjoyed your company? You just do the dirty jobs I wouldn’t do myself.”

In his head, the memories started to twist in a horrible grimace. Or maybe he was just realising how wrong he had always been. 

Ladybug’s encouraging smiles were turning into forced ones, and the reason behind each of her hesitations became all too clear.

_‘Kitty! I didn’t hear you coming.’_

_‘Yes, of course everything is alright, kitty cat.’_

_‘No, kitty, I’d rather leave our identities a secret.’_

He shook his head and cleared his throat. _Come on, Adrien. She’s saying the opposite of what she thinks._

“You hound me, My Lady.”

But his voice came out softer than he would’ve preferred, more pained than coy, barely a whisper, and he bit his tongue.

“You’re annoying, Chat. A bother, a hindrance. I’m glad I don’t have to keep this in anymore for the sake of our so-said friendship. Now would you let go of me?”

He stared at her, at the stranger in front of him. They had the same hair, the same nose, the same freckles, the same skin, height and glistening miraculous earrings. Her familiar flowery scent filled his nostrils, but it made him feel nauseous and lonesome now. In front of him stood a whole different person than the Ladybug he knew.

Or so he wanted to convince himself.

_‘You know what I like the most in Paris, kitty? The life buzz.’_

_‘Did you just invent that, My Lady?’_

_‘Very funny, kitty cat.’_

_‘Hey, what’s life buzz for you?’_

_‘How from small little things like friendship, love, kindness, even greed and pride, mankind manages to build anything in the world.’_

_‘And Paris?’_

_‘It preserves it. It exposes its scars as a story of everything that life buzz created of battles and poverty and victories and joys. From the small children who were running down this street centuries ago to the old woman who sweeps the paving stones every morning.’_

_‘Oh. It better keep scars of my purr-fection!’_

_..._

_‘Hey, alley cat. I’m glad you’re my friend.’_

“I wanted to make today special,” Chat felt himself murmur. “Well not something _that_ special, but something that would make you smile and be happy. Something spontaneous and authentical. Probably something _life buzzing_.” He let out a joyless laugh and averted his gaze, fixating on the bricks behind her as he continued. “But then, you… Took the arrow for me, and I-” His voice broke and he took a deep breath. “Come on, m’lady! What more do you hate?”

She didn’t reply immediately, in such a way that Chat had to look back to check on her. But his heart nearly stopped when he was met with a vulnerable gaze. Shattered glass in a sea of ice, something he wasn’t supposed to see. Ladybug frowned and scowled, but the glint remained and Chat couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“I hate Alya,” she declared. “She keeps putting her nose in people’s business like she owns the world. I hate Nino too. Always repeating ‘dude, dude, dude’ like I’m sure he’s got -50 vocabulary. And there’s Adrien, that little spoiled brat who thinks he can model, ha. He’s the one I hate the most. I can’t stand anything in him. You know his dad, Gabriel Agreste? Adrien thinks that his father loves him, and that’s probably the most ridiculous thing I ever got to witness. Who would like such a useless kid? He’s full of crap, doesn’t have a life. Walks around the city in a limo and fakes being the humble prince charming when he’s just a spoiled rich kid.” She glanced at Chat, pouting, and turning her head away again to mumble. “I really hate him. Will you let me go now?”

Not really.

He had his heart pounding in his ears and it hurt more than being crushed by a full-speed train. He didn’t quite know how to react to the fact the girl he loved just admitted he was a loser as both Chat Noir AND Adrien Agreste. He reminded himself that she was cursed, that she didn’t mean it, but it was getting harder and harder to convince himself. Yet, as much as it hurt, he couldn’t shake off the impression that her gaze was just… Different.

And it kept him from speaking a single word.

Rays of a setting sun were escaping the sky to sneak into the alleyway and cast a fiery colour on Ladybug’s jet black hair. Her shadow, along with his, painted a strange and deformed figure on the brick wall on which Chat held her wrists. Truly, she felt strong, even as she didn’t struggle. Her arms stood firm, not giving up the slightest to the tiredness of her position and he surprised himself admiring her even as she embedded burning stakes in his heart. He looked in the pool of her eyes, where yellow reflections batlled with black-dotted blue, then lowered his gaze to her freckled nose, and thought that he wouldn’t mind kissing each of her freckles, and finally, it rested on her lips, pitch cursed, ugly-coloured, yet so utterly kissable lips. Ladybug’s voice broke the magic when she spoke, but even it had lost some of its harshness.

“He acts like a little prince who’s so humble it becomes disgusting, it’s like he _has_ to lower himself to peasant level when he’s with other people, because he pities them. And you, you’re so painstakingly clingy, loyal to the point it’s just… Plain hideous. You’re hideous, Chat. I wish we never met. I’m so tired of you and I hope you remain forever sad and alone and miserable.” She started to shake her head, biting her lower lip as if the words burnt to tell, chest heaving. “I want you dead and out of my life, Chat. No more puns, no more sneaking, no more flirting, no more having to _fake_ enjoying your company. Paris doesn’t need you. It needs Ladybug the hero, not Chat Noir the second rate. Your luck will lead Paris to its doom.”

And then, the tears started to pour, endless, unceasing waterfalls that trickled down her cheeks and glimmed in the sunset light. She looked up at him, and her face, once cold and inexpressive, was crinkling in agony and sadness, eyes voids of despair and unspoken cries of help. Chat could only stand there, frozen, wondering if she was hearing herself speaking words she didn’t mean or if it was the accumulation of everything she had genuinely ached to tell him. He didn’t know which stung deeper, all he knew was that either way, his Lady was in pain because of  _him_.

She didn’t seem to notice the wetness on her cheeks or the jerk of her breath as she sobbed.

“I hate you,” she breathed. “I hate you, why won’t you let me go?”

And it was the break in her voice that did him in.

He let go of her wrists and his hands found her moistened cheeks. Her skin felt hot against the fabric of his gloves, and, as he leaned in, he could feel her shaky breath on his face. He didn’t think twice.

Her lips were soft, melting, jelly-like as he brushed them against his own. He could taste the salty tears on them, and a faint jolt of licorice that drove him crazy. He sighed and pressed her further against the wall to close the gap between their two bodies. Time seemed to freeze and his lungs barely dared to breath. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he wanted to faint. Tentatively, he tilted his head and darted his tongue out to lap her lower lip, growling when he met her own. His eyes slightly fluttered open at the unexpected movement, but he took it as his cue to deepen the kiss, tongue hungrily exploring each inch of her mouth to revel in its warmness. His hands slid down her shoulders, her back and her sides to entrap her waist in a firm embrace as he pulled her up. She bit his lip and his mind exploded in a thousand of warnings and bright lights.

 _Ladybug was kissing him back_.

Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and her fingers knotted in his hair, pressing him closer to her, desperate that if he ever pulled back, he would disappear any second. He answered her with a groan and pressed his claws against the small of her back, tearing a moan from her. It was intoxicating to feel her hands awkwardly toying in his hair, the shivering of her breath against his lips, the firm grip of her legs around him. He wouldn't have minded dying right then and there. Wouldn't have minded spending an eternity in that tiny street with her.

His eyes half-opened and he slightly pulled back, inhaling Ladybug’s familiar scent as he heaved. He looked down at her flushed cheeks and darkened eyes, but didn’t notice that her lips were pink again, only that they were swollen and enticing as ever. He didn’t notice the confused look on her face and the bewilderment in her eyes. It was only when he leaned in to kiss her neck and she spoke that he froze in realisation.

He _really_  didn’t mind dying right then and there.

But for a whole different reason than before.

“Chat, where are we? What’s going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I did say it would be a short fic, but the more I was writing and discussing with arouria, the more I realised that I couldn't fix all the angst I introduced in this chapter without lengthening the fiction.  
> So no, next chapter won't be the epilogue.
> 
> THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!


	4. Rumours and Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm one week later than planned.  
> But in my defence, this chapter was a hell to stitch among my exams.
> 
> I'm convinced you will love it though!  
> Thank you so much for the support! We're a few hits away from 4k hits, do you realise?
> 
> ENJOY

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was pacing.

Well, not _physically_ pacing.

She was pacing in her head, opening thousands of imaginary drawers from thousands of imaginary cupboards and surrounded by thousands of imaginary flying papers that did _not_ explain the current situation.

Adrien Agreste was exhausted.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

In all her 2 years of careful and daily stalking him, he had _never_ been this drained for 2 _whole_ weeks.

Marinette frowned to herself and mentally went through his weekly schedule.

Monday, school in the morning, photoshoot during lunch, school in the afternoon, fencing from five to seven, home.

Tuesday, morning shoot, back to school for the afternoon classes, Chinese from five to half past six, an hour pause, charity gala evening.

Wednesday, school in the morning, free lunch hour, school until three for a photoshoot, fencing from five to seven, photoshoot until ten.

Thursday, school all day, Italian from six to half past seven.

Friday, school in the morning, half an hour for lunch, fitting until two, school, Chinese from five to half past six, interview until eight, gala evening.

Saturday, school in the morning, an hour for lunch, Arabic from two to four, fencing until half past five, free evening.

It was already too much. But for the blonde, it was routine by now.

For the class, his absences and random come-and-goes were standard.

For Marinette, the glint of disappointment in his eyes when he was taken away from a lecture he enjoyed was everyday pattern, the tension of his muscles when he looked away from the judging gaze of his classmates, the frenetic toying with his phone as he prayed for Nathalie not to call him.

She was used to the longing gaze of an alien boy who watched the kids around him run in the playground while he scribbled yet again on his packed agenda another tiring responsibility.

She was used to the sting in her heart when she watched him from the other side of the court, clinging to her sketchbook to keep herself from running to comfort him, to take him in her arms and murmur that everything would be okay. Because she knew her legs wouldn’t carry her halfway and that her tongue was tied from the beginning.

But as she watched the boy sitting in the front row, she knew that the new slump of his shoulders wasn’t routine. That she wasn’t used to the new spaced out answers he gave in class, to the weary expression he now bore when he left for work, to the pen he toyed with instead of his phone, or to the dark bags that shadowed his gaze.

Nothing in her 2 years of stalking data could explain this.

She growled, frustrated, and buried her face in her hands.

“Ahem.”

_Oops._

She looked up and realised that her outburst hadn’t been quite as discreet as she would have wished.

All eyes were on her now, and she felt the familiar blush colour her cheeks as she forced herself not to count the pairs of eyes around her. She met Adrien’s clear green gaze though, and had to keep herself from combusting under its weight.

“Marinette, is there something particularly frustrating about this lecture that you wish to share with the class?” The teacher asked, immediately breaking the eye contact between the two teens.

The brunette laughed nervously and exclaimed. “N-No, miss! I was j-just remembering something my parents asked me to do.”

“Washing the flour from your clothes maybe?” Chloe scoffed.

Alya intervened. “Is that a hair out of place, Chloe?”

“W-Where?”

The blonde suddenly got up, panicked expression on her face as she hurriedly patted her perfectly combed hair. Unsatisfied with her examination, she rushed out of class without warning, probably to the toilets as her dramatic departure caused a wave of laughter to shake the class. Marinette turned to her friend, meeting her warm hazel gaze, and let herself get caught in the general fit.

“I didn’t think she would take the joke _literally_ ,” Alya giggled, heaving to calm down her laughter.

“Oh come on, Alya,” Marinette retorted. “We all know that the one thing Chloe never questions is her perfect _moi_.”

The tanned girl winked maliciously at her friend, and Marinette couldn’t help the genuine smile that split her face. If only she was that outgoing, then maybe she could make Adrien smile too.

Well, he had Nino.

She turned towards the model, and her grin faded a bit.

He was smiling politely, shaking his shoulders in a lame imitation of a laughter, and for the first time, something in the curve of his lips reminded her of someone else who knew a big deal of fabricated smiles too.

Someone whose behaviour had been just as worrying as Adrien’s for some time now.

Ever since the Cupid incident, Marinette realised.

She didn’t remember much of what had happened. She recalled being chased by the Akuma, and Chat arriving. There was an odd period of darkness, followed by some fuzzy memories of waking up to an oncoming akuma attack. The next thing she knew, she was defeating the Akuma with Chat and bringing peace to everyone in Paris with her Lucky Charm.

Well, _almost_ everyone.

Marinette couldn’t help the bitter taste that filled her mouth whenever she tried to imagine what could've happened where her memories failed her.

Because Chat was acting different and it perturbed her.

He came later to patrols, covered it up with more jokes than usual. He boasted more and filled all the silences instead of peacefully revelling in them like they used to. When he wasn't joking, he was spacing out. When he thought she wasn't looking, his smile faded, tired, and he would stare at Paris with a nostalgic air to him, like a dream that lost its shine.

Sometimes, he bit back a joke, as if reminded of something painful, something that made it inappropriate.

Something she clearly had no idea about.

Of course, she had tried to corner him several times because if something really had happened and she couldn’t remember, he certainly did.

But he would always find a way to shuffle his way out of the conversation.

_‘Did I ever tell you about that one time I found you humming while waiting for me, My Lady?’_

_‘Let’s play a game. Guess what I had for dinner, and I may tell you something.’_

_‘As much as I would like to_ chat _, patrol is a priority, My Lady.’_

He was smooth.

And Marinette chastised herself again for getting distracted so easily by the sly cat.

Alya seemed to notice her change of mood, and moved a hand on her friend’s shoulder. She probably associated it with worry over Adrien.

“Your Prince Charming looks really tired,” she teased. “You should go to his house with some cookies and warm milk to nurse him back to health, Mari. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

The pig-tailed girl felt the heat reach her ears. “W-WHAT?”

Alya simply winked at her mischievously, to which Marinette tried to protest, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the bell rang, drowning her words in the sudden rattling of the students’ chairs and the teacher’s desperate attempts to give the daily homework. Alya smirked and started to gather her things, visibly satisfied with her friend’s flustered face.

“Bye guys.”

Marinette turned her head and noticed that Adrien was already on his way out. He nonchalantly saluted them with two fingers, bag thrown over his shoulder. “Nino, Alya, Marinette.”

“Take care of yourself, dude,” Nino replied, and despite his usual goofing, the concern was palpable in his voice, the message between the lines all too clear for whoever noticed Adrien’s change.

The boy’s lips curved in a ghostly grateful smile before he left the classroom.

* * *

 

At the door of March, Paris was particularly frisky and changing.

It was a constant battle between winter and spring, with none of the seasons willing to give up their natural right to the other. Spring was raging with rain, determined to revive all the dead trees of winter, and Winter was determined to keep everything frozen around it.

The duel brought a horrible weather, with biting rain and stormy winds. Mornings would be icy while the afternoons would be sunny. One clearly didn’t know what to wear in Paris during March.

And undoubtedly, it was the worst month for a Paris visit.

Marinette tightened her raincoat around her and hurried down the sidewalk of _Rue Caulaincourt_ , hiding under the awnings of shops to avoid the cold shower. Although she had forgotten her _Navigo_ card at home, she didn’t mind too much that she couldn’t take the metro; she knew the stations would be chock-full of people avoiding the rain.

She walked in small but quick steps, wincing at the squeaking of her sneakers against the flooded concrete, taking caution not to slip on a puddle. A faint fog was covering Paris and the rain was so thick it only made it harder to discern the haussmanian buildings around her. Not that she really cared about observing buildings she saw everyday on her way home, but she always felt safer when she could see the familiar architecture and scratched stone. She sneezed for the third time that minute and  _really_ regretted forgetting her umbrella at home.

“Remind me to always check the weather before going out, Tikki,” she lamented, flipping her bangs out of her face with a shake of the head.

The little kwami popped her head out of her purse with an apologetic smile. “Come on, Marinette, the bakery shouldn’t be so far now!”

The girl gave an unenthusiastic cheer. “Yey.”

She was exhausted from walking in the cold, but just as Tikki had predicted, the familiar building of her family’s bakery soon appeared in view, and she rushed inside, dripping wet and panting. The welcoming smell of warm bread and sweet pastries filled her nostrils and she sighed in relief at the thought of hot chocolate in front of the fireplace.

“Forgot your umbrella again, sweetheart?”

Sabine Dupain-Cheng was standing at the checkout, her obsidian short hair pushed behind her ears and a welcoming smile stretched on her face when Marinette pushed the bakery’s door open.

She was all too used to her daughter’s forgetfulness.

When Marinette walked in, shivering and drenched, Sabine's first reflex wasn’t to lecture her. Simply to untie her apron, shake her head at her sheepish daughter, and walk towards the flight of stairs that led to the apartment.

“I also forgot my metro card,” the teen apologised, a sneeze escaping her. “Hi papa!”

“Hello, little bug,” Tom Dupain called out from the back shop. “Ever forgetful?”

“She got the forgetfulness from you, Tom,” Sabine said, rolling her eyes as she pushed Marinette past her. “You’re one to talk.”

“It’s a cute asset with boys, though!”

“You tell me that when she’s bed-ridden from walking home in the rain."

Marinette let out a giggle at her parents’ antics and climbed up the stairs hurriedly. That was home for her. The smell of gingerbread and her parents’ familiar banter and the soft carpet of the stairs under her feet. She reached the living room and took the second flight of stairs towards her own room.

“Make sure to dry your hair, sweetheart,” she heard her mom call out from the kitchen.

“Sure thing, maman!”

She pushed the trapdoor open and rushed to her closet, peeling off her soaked raincoat. She sneezed again and pushed the bangs away from her face.

“Quite the shower outside, Marinette,” Tikki murmured from her purse, and the girl let out a small giggle.

“I hope you’re still dry, Tikki,” she replied with a smile, opening the purse to let the small kwami fly to the warmth of her bed. “It sure is pouring outside. I’m gonna take a shower real quick.”

She untied her pigtails and grabbed a towel, thoroughly drying her hair when a sudden knock caught her attention. She volte-faced and vigilantly scanned the room, frowning until her eyes stopped on the circular window above her divan.

That was when she saw it.

A dark silhouette that stood against the grey scenery of the rain outside.

It only became familiar when they moved to knock on the glass again, revealing the cat ears on their shaggy head.

 _His_ shaggy head.

She blinked. “Chat?”

Marinette hurried to the porthole and opened the shutter, just wide enough to let the drenched boy slip inside. He smelled of rain and amber and leather as he silently let himself land next to her, a mixture of Chat’s familiar scent and the freshness of the coming spring. Something like how the air felt like after a storm.

An icy air accompanied his movement and Marinette quickly shut the window, shivering.

She turned to Chat and scolded. “What are you doing here?”

He barely acknowledged her presence, busy glancing around the room. “You just got home?” He asked.

“That’s not the question! What were you thinking coming here?”

_There wasn’t a patrol planned today, right?_

She bit her lip and racked her mind. No, even if there was patrol, they wouldn’t go out in such a weather.

_Right?_

The boy turned and finally settled his gaze on her own.

Something was off.

His hollow, lacklustre gaze was staring at her, and she realised she was catching her breath.

He was looking at her without really  _seeing_ her.

He looked miserable and achingly distant.

Something that wasn’t supposed to be Chat.

She had seen countless emotions on that familiar face of his, countless mundane variations of mildly upset, and utterly happy and agonizingly exhausted, but not this. Never this.

Raindrops trickled down his spandex suit to pool at his feet, his shaggy blonde hair disastrously falling over his eyes, limp curtain plastered against his forehead and cheekbones. He blinked, and his eyes widened in incredulity when he finally realised where he was. Then came the confusion, painted all over his face as he tried to understand how exactly he had ended up standing soaking wet in the room of a girl he hardly knew.

“I-” he started. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know why…” He trailed off and his gaze wandered again, as if searching for an answer written on the walls or the furniture. Then, he looked back at her, and this time, his gaze sparked with gathered composure. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know how I ended up here.” The aplomb disappeared as soon as it had appeared, flickering light in his green eyes, and the boy fidgeted in an un-Chat-like manner.

“I just kind of… did,” he managed at last, words floating between the two teens like an unspoken question, unavowed cry of help only she could hear.

The air felt thick around them, the silence heavy and only disturbed by the constant titter of the rain against the glass. It was a regular, uninterrupted pounding that made her wonder how on earth she had managed to discern Chat’s knock among the crashing raindrops.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from the boy in front of her.

The vulnerable empty shell in front of her.

She _ached_ to make him smile again, and she just _knew_ she had to keep him from falling apart.

“Look at you.” She smiled, tentatively reaching to brush the stray locks of hair from his eyes. “You’re soaking wet. You’ll ruin my floor like this, you know.”

His eyes widened, clearly not expecting the answer, and his lips parted in surprise, but she firmly held his gaze, determined. This was her partner, her best friend, even if he didn’t know it, and she didn’t want him hurt. Almost immediately, she grabbed a towel in her closet and shoved it in his arms.

“Dry yourself a bit,” she ordered and walked to her trapdoor. “I’ll go get something to eat.”

* * *

The sweet aroma of chocolate and fresh cookies was filling the air when she reached the kitchen. Her mother stood in the middle of the room, humming as she busied herself with the tea preparations. She grabbed a mug in a cupboard and poured the hot chocolate inside, glancing at her daughter when she entered.

She scowled and Marinette planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Still in your wet clothes, Marinette?”

“Y-Yeah,” the girl spluttered. “Alya called. We have a lot homework for tomorrow and she called to remind me.”

“And you want to eat upstairs?”

“I _have_ to,” Marinette corrected, smile widening as she pulled out the tray she was searching for from the cupboard.

The grin was contagious, and soon, Sabine was reciprocating it. She pulled out the cookies from the oven and put the plate down on the counter.

“Alright,” she said. “Get your tray ready then, I should probably go help your dad downstairs.” She walked to the front door, but paused at the doorstep to glance at her daughter, hand on the white frame. “They exert you at school, don’t they?”

The thought of Adrien’s drooped shoulders flashed in Marinette’s mind, and for a second, the painful sting was back. She forced a cheerful tone. “Yeah they do.”

Sabine didn’t answer. She simply let out a sigh before disappearing in the stairway and Marinette went on with her preparations, putting as many cookies as possible, and a second mug. When she poured the chocolate, her hands were shaking and she took a second to collect herself.

_Come on, Marinette. Adrien will probably get better in no time, right?_

_But isn’t it what you said a week ago already?_

She walked up the stairs to her room.

_I’m not responsible of him. He’s a grown boy, he can handle this better than I could ever advise him._

A pair of green warm eyes flashed, steadily morphing into hollow green and she pushed the trap door open with her shoulder. She took a deep breath.

“I hope you’re hungry, kitty, ‘cause I got us a lifetime supply of cookies!"

She kicked the hatch shut and Chat turned.

The towel was thrown over his shoulders, his hair a dishevelled hay-like mess from the inadequate drying. He was still where she had left him, with the difference that he was now examining her dummy and the scattered sketches of her latest creation over the wall. Fabric was pinned here and there on the model, recreating the general form of a dress and although it was still in progress, Marinette was pretty confident about the outcome. It was to be a pale pink dress, with a bow tie holding the backless and a tailed skirt, white and pink intertwining in elegant embroidery from top to end. Undoubtedly, it was one of the most delicate works she ever had engaged in because of the fragility of the net. She noticed the care Chat showed in handling the clothe, mindful of the ornament and pins as he set the fabric down and met her gaze, smirk stretching his thin lips.

“Tea time, princess?”

“Even better,” she replied, triumphantly putting the tray down on her desk. “Hot chocolate.”

“Hmm, even _pet-ter_?”

She puffed. “You deserve hell for this pun.”

“Pun? I can’t hear puns. Only _purr-fectly_ timed humour.”

She turned to face the boy and her grin widened. “Stop it, you stupid cat. They’re not even funny.”

She expected him to say something like ‘But you _are_ laughing’.

An automatic expectation.

A habit.

But the retort never came and she found herself searching for his gaze.

“Chat?”

“O-Oh yeah?”

The shadow was back on his face and her smile disappeared instantly. _Again?_

She grabbed a cookie and walked towards him. “Here.” He looked at the cookie for a while, confused, and she repeated. “Eat.”

“I don't have much of an appetite,” he uttered.

“That’s not what I've heard about you.”

This seemed to catch his attention and he raised both eyebrows.

“What did you hear about me?”

“A lot of things.”

“Like?”

“Liiiiike…” She slowly smirked. “Things I would tell you if you eat.”

He growled and grabbed the cookie, biting into the crispy treat. He looked so sulky for a second that Marinette had to stifle a giggle.

“Let’s play a game,” she suddenly declared. “I’ll tell you a rumour for each bite you take.”

He looked at her bewildered, but the expression soon turned into one of pure curiosity and mischief. “Challenge accepted.”

Marinette was smug as she grabbed a chocolate mug from the table, sipping the creamy, warm drink.

She knew her kitty better than anyone, she had more than enough rumours to get him to eat the whole plate.

He bit into the cookie and she started. “You’re a glutton.”

“Untrue,” he firmly decided, crossing his arms with a frown. She raised an eyebrow and his ears drooped a bit. “I’m a superhero, alright? I need energy. _Calories to burn_.”

“I have reason to believe a story involving double anchovy and sardine pizza.”

“It was a very good double anchovy and sardine pizza, okay?”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, and sat back in her chair, hand gesturing towards the cookie. He leaned against the desk, getting comfortable, and complied.

“You ran straight into the Eiffel Tower.”

He choked. “That was _ONCE_.”

“You got your tail stuck in a revolving door.”

“I didn’t!” He paused and timidly rubbed the back of his neck. “... Did they really show that on tv?”

She pointed at the cookie and he took a bite.

“Yes.”

He took another bite and pouted, but the glint of his eyes betrayed his enthusiasm for the game.

“Is it true you can name 150 different kinds of cheeses?”

“There’s a _very_ good reason for that.”

“And you’ve mistaken your own tail for a snake once?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “In my defence, it is _very_ snaky-looking. You would’ve screamed too.”

“Oooooh you screamed?”

A faint blush covered his cheeks and his eyes turned to saucers, pulling a giggle out of her.

“We don’t even _have_ snakes in Paris, Chat. I mean, except in _zoos_.”

“It was really convincing, okay?” He protested. “And one could _totally_ have escaped your so-called ‘zoos’.”

He grimaced and looked away, clearly embarrassed, and it occurred to Marinette that flustered Chat was an adorable sight. Despite his evident uneasiness, he still brought the cookie to his mouth and ate the rest of it.

Marinette decided to be more indulgent. “Your favourite colour is green.”

He smiled and glanced at her. “Actually, it’s blue.”

It was her turn to blink. “What?”

“Well, I don’t choose my costume. I go along with the colour it comes with.”

She pouted, perplex.

Well, it was true that her own favourite colour wasn’t red but pink.

But she had never doubted of the fact Chat’s colour would be green.

Realisation struck her and she panicked.

_I don’t know Chat all that well?_

“Hey, your turn.”

She snapped out of her inner dilemma and looked up at the catboy. He was handing her a cookie and now held his own mug in his hands, smile plastered over his face.

She glared at him suspiciously. “You don’t know any rumours about me.”

“Try me,” he sneered.

“I don’t trust this.”

His smirk grew bigger and suddenly, it sounded like a challenge she was determined to make him lose.

She squinted and bit into the cookie.

“You think I’m cool.”

She nearly choked on the biscuit.

“UNTRUE.”

“Now that’s plain bad faith. How could you not?”

“You eat double anchovy and sardine pizza!”

He scoffed. “You never tried it. That’s why.”

She grimaced and took another bite of her cookie.

“You like sewing.”

“That’s not a rumour,” she commented.

“I don’t know you enough to know it’s true, though.”

She opened her mouth to interfere, but he had a point.

 _1 to 0_.

Hell if that sly cat was winning.

She rolled her chair closer and held out her cookie to him, determined to take her revenge. His smile stretched and he leaned forward to take a bite from it, exultant.

“Your ego is as tall as the Eiffel Tower,” she declared.

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” he chimed. “It’s not my fault if I’m Chat Noir. I’m A+.”

He emphasised his point by flexing his free arm and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah suuure,” Marinette chuckled. “Ladybug should get an award for being able to cope with you, kitty.”

Chat froze.

“What?”

Marinette bit in her cookie, mouth full when she spoke again. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing, though.”

“Do you think I’m a hindrance to her?”

She was puzzled by his question.

“You two save Paris everyday,” she stated. “Why would you be a hindrance?”

He remained silent.

Then he spoke again, voice barely a whisper, and Marinette wondered if he was talking to himself rather than her. “I’m painstakingly clingy.”

She twitched. “What?”

His grip around the mug had tightened, and he felt more rigid than before. He wasn’t listening to her.

He turned to her, but his gaze didn’t quite see _Marinette_.

Or maybe it did, but he was searching for something else in her gaze.  
Something to cling to.

“I’m annoying, right?”

“Chat-”

“A bother. A hindrance.”

“No you’re-”

“Full of crap.”

She widened her eyes.

Where did he get this from?

She saw turmoil in his gaze, and for a second, she felt _scared_.

 _He_ was scared.

She put her own mug down and sat up to face him.

Her heart was beating fast, and the voice in her head was screaming to her to abort. Yet, she kept moving closer and closer, moving until her hands were resting on his cheeks and she whispered :

“Whoever told you that, Chat, doesn’t know the slightest thing about you.”

His eyes smothered, and he exhaled. “You wouldn’t know…”

He looked disheartened, crestfallen, _guilty_.

Oh so guilty.

Like he had betrayed someone by playing around with her.

She took a deep breath, and murmured. “Chat-”

The strident ringing of her phone filled the room, and they both turned their head towards Marinette’s bag, halting the momentum.

The brunette felt her heart drop in her stomach at the sudden intrusion. She pulled away from Chat, and it was like ripping off her own skin, but she moved to her bag and took the phone out, looking at the caller.

_Alya._

She sighed.  
Of course she would call.

She picked up, throwing an apologetic glance at a confused Chat. She gestured for him to wait a second and turned away.

“H-Hi, Alya!”

“Mari,” the girl exclaimed. “We have a _ton_ of homework! I just checked the school’s website!”

“I know, Alya, but don’t worry, I’m on it.”

“You better be, girl. You’ve been missing way too many classes lately. Do you have something to write on?”

Marinette rummaged through her schoolbag and pulled out her agenda.

“Gotcha.”

“Alright well listen, I’m on something and I need your help.”

“Ladyblog things again?”

Marinette could practically _see_ Alya’s smirk.

“Spots on, girl,” she chimed. “I have reason to think someone can give us information about Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

The brunette’s heart backflipped.

“ _What?_ ”

“Write down the address carefully, Mari, we’re meeting there tomorrow.”

A click pulled Marinette's attention away, causing her to turn.

A pair of fluorescent green eyes met her own, and she felt her heart drop as a curt, wistful smile made its way across his lips.

It was still raining when Chat Noir closed the window and vanished without a word back into the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay credits time!
> 
> First of all, I REALLY want to thank arouria, I feel like I can never thank her enough wtf she's just an amazing beta reader okay? SHE DOODLES ON MY CHAPTERS DO YOU EVEN  
> And she copes with me and she helps me plot everything, she's a pearl please go check her work.
> 
> Second, I would like to credit new-life-means-new-chances on tumblr because I used her dress design for Mari's dress. She's a wonderful artist and an adorable cinnamon bun and I want you to go check her job as well!
> 
> Currently writing chapter 5 :^D


	5. Stray Cats & Theories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for the huge delay I got with this chapter. Truly, it's a very thick one that required a LOT of research (it's the longest chapter so far pfew).  
> Hopefully, you will love it though!
> 
> BIG BIG THANKS TO AROURIA FOR HER INCREDIBLE AMAZING BETA READING AND SUPPORT  
> I swear she's a pearl, she saved my life more times than I could count.
> 
> ENJOY

_The hand on her back was hot._

_Nearly as burning as her own skin._

_She couldn’t breathe, or at least she didn’t want to._

_She didn’t want to stop the erratic beating of her heart, didn’t want the burning of her chest to fade._

_His lips were soft against her own._

_Hers were hungry._

_She clung to him for dear life, and she didn’t really know why. She just_ did, _and the firm grip that responded only made her yearn for more._

_Her insides were melting into a strange feeling of safety, danger, and urgent desire. The whole twist made her heart jolt, and the burn of her lungs rage._

_She felt him groan in the back of his throat, and his velvety long eyelashes brush against her cheekbone as he tilted his head. It was fuzzy, cloudy, intoxicating._

_She didn’t want it to end._

_She pulled him closer to her, and it occurred to her that maybe if she pulled close enough, they could become one. She wrapped her legs around his waist, plunged her fingers in his hair, and her lips ached from the friction._

_She knew the familiar scent, the chiselling of his muscles._

_She knew the silky meshes knotted around her fingers, the groan of his voice._

_She knew the warm and overwhelming feeling that took over her heart._

_She half-opened her eyes, mind drunk with desire._

_She knew him._

_The image was clouded, everything was dark._

_But she knew him._

_She just couldn’t make out anything._

_His figure was floating away, cold was suddenly replacing his warmth._

_He was walking away, and she couldn’t move._

_His face was fogged in black._

_She opened her mouth, tried to call out for him._

_He never walked back to her._

_Never stopped._

_He simply looked up at her with those invisible eyes of his._

_His ghostly gaze._

_And all she could make out in the sudden twist of her sight was the wistful stretch of his lips._

_She didn’t know him._

Marinette’s eyes flashed open and she hastily sat up, drenched in sweat and heaving.

The moon was hanging in the sky above her, heavy and full, its rays through the glass trap the only light in the dimness of her room.

She brought a hand to her lips, and took a deep breath, trying to calm the hysterical beating of her heart.

“Is everything okay, Marinette?” A small voice sleepily asked from beside her.

“Y-Yeah…” she stuttered. “I just… Had this dream again.”

The little kwami remained silent, and Marinette let out a sigh.

She didn’t expect an answer from Tikki.

Couldn’t, really.

She let her head drop back on the pillow, silent, and glanced at her clock.

It was 4 am.

* * *

 

“Alright, we’re all good, little bug!”

Tom Dupain-Cheng dropped the last bag of wheat on the floor with a loud thud.

The whole bang caused a chalky cloud to fill the air and Marinette laughed.

She waved the flour away from her face. “You sure you don’t need anything else?”

“My Sabine radar doesn’t seem to detect any danger,” he observed. “I think I’m safe for now.”

The baker dusted off his hands and a satisfied grin cracked his face.

“I’ll ring you when I’ll need an emergency escape. Leave your balcony door open, comrade.”

Beaming, Marinette mimed a military salute. “Sure thing, captain.”

Saturdays were always something at the Dupain-Cheng bakery. Especially between 3 and 4 when the flow of clients was the lowest, and the ovens were all turned off.

They were something because Marinette would get the chance to help her parents supply the bakery.

It was a cheerful operation, rhythmed by her parents’ constant banter and family carols. It was all about her dad’s horrific jokes and her teaming up with her mom to carry one especially heavy bag, careful not to stumble on the sidewalk. Sometimes, Alya would come along and it would be even merrier because Sabine would make them sandwiches, or they would sneak in the bakery to get a croissant or two from the latest batch.

Marinette felt her smile falter at the thought of the journalist and her eyebrows furrowed.

Information about Chat Noir and Ladybug, huh?

The whole thing had smelled like a hoax from the very beginning.

But Tikki had convinced her that it was safer to check by herself.

If Alya’s _informers_ really did know something, it was better to take care of the situation right then and there.

And if they turned out to be dangerous, she could still turn to Ladybug.

Which definitely made it the safest bet.

“Gotta go, papa,” Marinette said, pulling her dad’s attention from the stock register. “Alya is waiting for me.”

Tom smiled and distractedly waved at her. “Have fun, little bug. Say hi for me!”

“Promise!”

The girl giggled and walked to the flight of stairs towards her room.

She really could never help a smile in the presence of her dad.

Really couldn’t wipe it out of her face as she climbed the steps.

Really couldn’t.

Well.

Except when she pushed the trapdoor open.

“Hello there, Princess!”

Her jaw dropped.

“I didn’t know you liked Adrien Agreste this much. He’s all over your room!”

He didn’t-

“Even I don’t have this many pictures of Ladybug.”

She was going to kill him.

Chat turned to her, spinning the chair he was sitting on to reveal the _huge_ cheshire grin that was plastered all over his face.

A big shit-eating grin that made her want to throw him to the next continent and make sure he was buried six feet under.

“I’ll have you know,” he commented, and pointed at the pictures above her computer. “That he’s not so photogenic on this one.”

_Oh, she was going to rip him off._

“W-What are you d-doing here, Chat? I don’t remember putting a _freaking cat shelter sign_ at my _window_.”

He paused, and his smile, which _normally_ couldn’t get any bigger, widened. “I came from the roof.”

That was it.

She was going to murder him.

“I’m calling the police.”

He paled. “W-Wait!”

She looked up from her phone and he hurriedly grabbed something from the desk.

“I brought something,” he blurted. “To... thank you for yesterday.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What?”

His bravado came back when he caught her attention, albeit tainted with relief he probably wouldn’t admit. He held out a black box to her, and Marinette noticed it was adorned with the trademark of Paris’ prestigious _L’Atelier De L’Eclair_. Her eyes widened.  “They won’t be as good as the cookies, but they’re not too bad.” He opened the box and his lips curled into their usual smirk. “I hope you like éclairs, Princess.”

She stared at him, unblinking. “Éclairs?”

“Yes, but I don’t know which is your favourite, so I picked one from each,” he chimed, boastful. “At a guess, I’d say it’s the caramel one!”

“I-I can’t,” she exclaimed, crippling heat already spreading through her cheeks.

“You don’t like éclairs?”

“It’s not that! I- Have you seen the _brand_?”

“Of course I did. I bought it from there.”

“It’s _expensive_.”

She was staring at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he simply looked back at her, as if she had just told him there were twelve pigs and a monkey flying in the sky. Her gaze drifted and she stammered:

“I c-can’t accept this. It was just c-cookies.”

_Wrong answer._

Chat’s tone was irrevocable. “It wasn’t ‘ _just cookies’_.”

She looked back at him, startled, and his gaze suddenly burnt of assurance, something that wasn’t there the day before, a confidence that had been wavering too much lately.

She opened her mouth to retort, insist that yesterday was just a normal day, that it _was_ just cookies, but something in his gaze discouraged her. A little light of pride, of gratefulness, of offense at her own belittling, a gaze that burnt into her very soul.

She inhaled.

“Don’t belittle yourself,” he murmured and quirked up his lips. “So which one will it be for the purr-incess?”

She walked to her closet and grabbed her coat. “Go away, kitty.”

“Vanilla? Like your smile?”

_Oh no._

“Or maybe it is blueberry like your hair? Strawberry like your favourite colour?”

“Chat-”

“Chocolate. Because you’re incredibly _sweet_.”

She felt her eyelid twitch and she abruptly turned around, fuming as she walked to the box. She grabbed an éclair at random and bit into it.

“Oh so lemon it is,” he said. “I didn’t know you were this _bitter_ , Princess.”

_That was it. He was off to the next solar system._

“You should leave, kitty,” she grumbled. “I have a rendezvous.”

He sounded surprised. “A rendezvous?”

There was a silence.

Then.

“Cheating on Adrien?”

She choked on her éclair.

“I DON’T HAVE A CRUSH ON ADRIEN AGRESTE,” she squealed.

He looked utterly pleased with himself, like no one but Chat could ever be.

“I never said you did,” he purred.

“I-I just really like Gabriel Agreste’s c-coats I mean _clothes_ and u-uhm A-Adrien poses for h-him so it’s just a c-coincidence.”

He didn’t answer, and she could _feel_ his insistent gaze on her despite her looking everywhere but at him.

“I-I’m meeting with my friend, Alya,” she blurted at last, at a loss of topics.

Something flashed on Chat’s face, but she failed to recognise it.

“I’m coming with you,” he decided.

She stiffened. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

Chat was radiating, head cocked in amusement. He spun on the chair and spoke again. “What if villains attack you, Princess?”

“I’m not 8, Chat,” she retorted, annoyed. “I can defend myself.”

He flexed, and Marinette sighed, crossing her arms on her chest. “You need a hero like me, a knight in shining armour, to protect you!”

“I’ll let you know that I live in Paris, Chat. I’m not a tourist.”

“A hero who will defend you whatever the weather, whatever the danger.”

She blinked. “Says the one who got scared of his own tail.”

“I thought we had agreed on never bringing this up again!”

“We never did, kitty.”

She sighed, though a little amused, and put on her coat. She glanced one last time at the cat boy  before pulling her trap door open.

“I gotta go, alley cat,” she greeted. “Don’t miss me too much.”

* * *

_‘See La Courneuve, Mari? In the 93. Take the RER to La Courneuve Aubervilliers and meet me there.’_

Marinette sighed and shoved the torn agenda page back in her pocket.

Just what on earth was Alya thinking bringing her to one of Paris’s most dangerous suburbs?

She bit her lip and walked down _Rue Caulaincourt_ towards the metro station.

By the end of saturday, Montmartre was always swarming with people. It had always been a busy parisian heart, no matter what time of history. If Marinette had her way, she would straightaway say it was _the_ heart of Paris. With its countless restaurants and bistros, its paved streets and colourful awnings, there was not a story about Paris that didn’t at least quote the _Sacré Coeur, La Place Pigalle_ or _La Place du Tertre_. It was all about stairs and small alleys, typical Parisian sceneries that never stopped amazing her, no matter how many centuries went by.

As Marinette made her way through the crowded streets, she noted the waves of people walking in and out of shops that were just as full as the cafés. Children scooted around their parents in bright raincoats, pointing at this and that shop window, chiming at the prospect of a family outing. Friends were sitting at the café terraces, loud and lively, and couples were holding hands, fingers intertwined as they probably made their way to the famous _Wall of Love_ a couple blocks away. The sidewalk was still wet from the recent rain but the sun had decided to show up on that late evening, albeit shadowed by the tree linings and buildings. The spring-like breeze, heated by the sun rays, carried the heady smell of croissants and coffee in the middle of gasoline and city life scents, a peculiar scent only Montmartre could possibly have.

A scent Marinette knew all too well.

As she neared the stairs to _Rue Lamarck_ , a window shop caught her eye and she stopped.

There was Gabriel’s latest collection displayed.

The shop in itself didn’t bear the name of the fashion designer, but it sold some of his articles, which she recognised from following all of his fashion shows.

The major piece of the display was a diaphanous dress, with countless chiffon petticoats that ended in trails of shaded black, similar to the extremities of a butterfly’s wings. They seemed ethereal, like the whole dress would fly if Marinette ever blew on it, so thin she would never even dare wear it by fear of wasting it to her clumsiness. The bodice was 50’s inspired, a bateau neckline with long sleeves that covered the model’s hands and ended with a ring, just as pale as the rest of the dress. On the left shoulder, Marinette could discern the trademark butterfly of the brand, tiny black figure embroidered in a sea of white.

She inhaled but the garment wasn't what had caught her attention.

It was the hat that rested on top of the model’s head.

A white oversized hat with numerous flowers and creamy feathers that completed the outfit, summer-like, elegant. Roses, lilies, poppies, violets, were mingling in an explosion of colours on the white felt, and somewhere in the back of Marinette's mind, it occurred to her that it would be perfect with her own pink dress.

“Nice dress, huh?”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she whirled on her heels, scanning the street around her.

“Over here, princess!”

She looked up, and the slim figure of Chat suddenly cut into the green of the tree above her.

She clenched her fists. “CHAT, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“Safety first, piggytails,” he chimed, playing with his tail. “I’m just on patrol.”

“You’re _following_ me,” she fumed.

“Following you? Dear God no. I just happened to be patrolling the area.”

She jutted her chin, furious. “Chat, I told you to leave me alone. I can’t afford Alya seeing you.”

“She won’t see me,” he said, confident. “Where are you going anyway?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Such violence, Princess.”

“You’re stepping on my vital space and freedom!”

He laughed. “Oh come on, this is a street. Public property.”

She groaned. “Leave me alone, cat.”

“Tell me where you’re going, and I may leave relieved.”

“No.”

“I’ll follow you.”

She let out an outraged noise. “I’ll scream that you want to assault me.”

“You wouldn’t,” he challenged.

“ _Try me._ ”

She drilled her gaze in his, and he held hers, all jokes left aside.

They were sizing each other up, her from the sidewalk, him from the branches. All of a sudden, tension was building, thick, palpable, with neither of the two teenagers willing to lose the silent battle that was raging between them.

 _What was his problem anyway_ , Marinette thought. She wasn’t his responsibility, and he didn’t owe her anything. Why was he insisting so much?

Finally, she spoke. “Why are you following me?”

At that, a sigh escaped Chat’s lips and he sat on the branch, gaze wandering as he seemed to ponder his answer.

“I saw the address on your agenda,” he uttered at last. “Before you came into the room.”

She felt her heart drop in her stomach and for a second, saying she felt indignation would’ve been an understatement.

Ire would’ve been one as well.

And so _what_? She was a little girl now? Unable to survive in unknown territory on her own?

She crossed her arms and glowered at him, lips pursed.

“It’s the suburbs, Marinette,” he went on. “You can’t possibly imagine going there alone.”

“Paris shelters millions of people. I’m sure I’m not the first girl to ever go there unguarded in the history of France.”

“No, but you wouldn’t be the first one to be attacked there either.”

“I can defend myself.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I’m not a baby!”

“It’s a jungle, Marinette!”

His gaze was hard, piercing, and she could feel the stiffening of his body as he burst out. His tone caught her off guard, froze her on the spot, and she felt at a loss of words.

It was destabilising.

Furious Chat Noir was destabilising.

The breeze blew through her hair and swirled towards the branches, distinct whistle in the sudden silence that enveloped them. The leaves fluttered at the contact, but neither her or Chat spoke.

She looked away and murmured at last. “I have business to attend to, Chat. Don’t worry about me, I won’t be alone. Alya will be there too.”

“I’ll follow you anyway.”

His voice sounded softer this time, and Marinette’s gaze flickered towards him.

She knew she couldn’t get rid of him.

It was so like him and unlike him at the same time. After all, she was just Marinette.

Not amazing Miraculous Ladybug.

Why would he be so determinate to protect _her_?

She let her gaze wander and rest on the Gabriel dress.

Dissuading Chat was already a lost battle. He knew the address; he _would_ follow her no matter what.

Then again, the situation concerned him just as much as her. It was the identities of both Ladybug and Chat Noir that were at stake after all.

She felt her resolution to go alone waver.

The 93 wasn’t the safest of Paris’ areas.

It _was_ a jungle, a whole department that gathered the most dangerous neighbourhoods of Ile-De-France, separated from Paris by a railway only the bravest crossed at night.

It was relatively safer during daytime, which was why Marinette wasn’t so worried in the first place, but the threat of an aggression was common things to expect there.

Marinette let out a frustrated sigh and drummed her fingers on her crossed arms. And that stupid Alya plan…

It _would_ be safer to have Chat around.

“Okay, fine,” she replied finally. “But you follow me from the roofs, no one must see you, okay? _No one._ ”

Chat beamed. “Worry not, Princess.” He seemed relieved, utterly happy compared to how serious he had looked like just a few seconds ago. He stood back up, perfectly balanced on the tree branch and did a small military salute. “I’m the stealthiest of knights.”

And just like that, he jumped and disappeared.

Marinette exhaled. “I hope I won’t regret this, Tikki.”

The little kwami popped her head out of the purse and gave her an encouraging smile. “A stitch in time saves nine, Marinette. Chat Noir can only help you if something happens.”

The girl smiled back and rushed into the métro entrance of _Lamarck-Caulaincourt._ “You’re probably right.”

The journey to _La Courneuve Aubervilliers_ wasn’t very long -About 20 minutes, and all about successions of subway lines to get to the _Gare du Nord_ . There, she would take the interdepartmental train, the _RER_ , and only stop at the terminus of line B.

It was a strange journey, to gradually watch the people around her go from colourful fashionable styles to sportswear and duller colours. To see the faces grow more exotic and the voices get louder, livelier, the nearer she was from the suburban neighbourhoods.

 _Seine-Saint-Denis_ was known for lodging countless of ethnicities from Africa to China, even more than the rest of Paris, and even Montmartre where she lived. It was almost always on the news too, known for being the lair of the worst drug dealers in France. It was always stories about gunfights and aggressions, each being worse than the one before.

Marinette had never ventured there.

Not even as Ladybug.

The train stopped, and a surge of people walked out of it.

She took a deep breath and watched around her, wondering if Chat was among the civilians as she stepped out of the engine. The sky had turned to grey, heavy with unleashed rain again, and it gave the whole place a gloomy atmosphere.

In this area of Paris, everything was greyer, despite the many trees that had been planted here and there in a desperate attempt to make it look livelier. People weren’t smiling, weren’t talking, earbuds riveted in their ears as they made their way through the crowd.

The station wasn’t very big, with creamy walls and blue windows, painted with yellow here and there, and mostly had graffitis covering the walls. Art and protests were melting together, chanting messages of anarchy, and anti-conformism in all crude ways.

Among the slogans, a doodle caught her attention.

A small scribbled red message on the pale dirtied wall she recognised.

 _Sapere aude_.

Dare to know.

She smiled at the latin reference, and a sudden voice called her out.

“Marinette!”

She turned and saw Alya running towards her, bag on her back and a huge smile plastered over her face.

“H-Hi Alya!” Marinette exclaimed.

“Glad to see you didn’t get lost,” her friend teased before pulling her into a tight hug.

“Maybe I should’ve done that to have a reason to go back home. What were you thinking bringing me here, Alya?”

The journalist laughed and put her hands on her hips. “Nothing stops a journalist. Nor the hail or a scorching sun.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.

To which Alya simply laughed again and hooked her arms into hers. “Come on, Mari. The informers are waiting for us in the car.”

Outside the station was a dark red car waiting for them. It wasn’t a particularly expansive car, a simple fiat 500, no different that the rest of the parked vehicles, to the exception of its colour. A dark-skinned woman was standing in front of it, elegantly clothed in a green khaki coat and pale trousers. She was tall and slender, with short black hair curling in a ball form on her head, and a warm smile stretching her pink glossed lips. Next to her was a man, slightly shorter than her. He was bald and wore glasses, along with a simple white pullover under an opened black raincoat, with a red scarf tightly tied around his neck. He had a small impeccably traced moustache, and a welcoming smile, a classy nerd look.

They recognised Alya as soon as the girls walked out.

“Alya!”

The journalist waved frantically as soon as she spotted them. “Mr. and Mrs. Mercier!”

She pulled Marinette after her and rushed towards them, smile wide to her ears.

“Please, call us Agnès and Pierre,” the dark-skinned woman said, shaking hands.

“Agnès,” Alya replied. “I’m Alya, you know me, and this is Marinette. She’s my best friend and _Ladyblog_ collaborator.”

Something flashed in Agnès’s gaze when she turned towards Marinette, pure and genuine interest that caught the brunette off guard in its intensity. She laughed nervously and waved her hand in an awkward greeting.

“H-Hi,” Marinette stammered.

“These are my _Ladyblog_ informers for the day,” Alya went on. “Agnès and Pierre Mercier. They’re librarians here in _La Courneuve_ and they contacted me yesterday to give me some _juicy_ info about our favourite superheroes.”

She smirked Alya-lishly and the two librarians’ grinned.

“It is very nice to meet you, Marinette,” Pierre said, shaking her hand as well. “Oh, but where are my manners? Let’s get into the car.”

He opened the door, and the two girls slipped inside with Pierre taking place on the driver seat and Agnès sitting next to him. He turned on the radio, and a rap tune filled the vehicle.

Marinette was puzzled.

These two were nothing like she had been expecting.

More like the total opposite.

Which should be reassuring, right?

She looked outside the window.

There were a lot of trees in that part of the suburbs, though leafless from the everlasting winter, which gave the whole place a seriously gloomy aspect.

Unlike Paris where buildings couldn’t exceed 5 floors, the constructions seemed to rival in height here. It was all about contradictory architecture, varying from ground-floor houses to immense skyscrapers.

Despite this, the horizon was unfamiliarly clear, revealing the extent of the French capital.

They turned around at a roundabout and the scenery changed again. This time, it was only and strictly buildings. They looked clean, albeit concrete grey.

Everything was grey.

Sidewalk, road, buildings, sky.

It was perturbing and Marinette, who was used to the myriad of colours of Montmartre, wondered how one could live in such a place.

“So you two are still in school, huh?” Agnès asked, turning to look at them over the car seat. “And handling such a national blog… That’s amazing.”

“Well,” Alya replied, excited. “When you love something, you just gotta do it. Age is just a number.”

They turned down another street, smaller this time, and the scenery changed again.

“How about you?” Agnès turned to Marinette, lips stretched into a friendly smile. “You love this?”

The brunette let out a small laugh. “Alya is pretty much the brain here. I just support.”

They entered a small car park, at the foot of a towering building, and the conversation died away as Pierre searched for a parking space. Finally, he turned into a small court, hidden from the sight of inexperienced drivers, and stopped the car.

Marinette walked out, and was instantly struck by the chilly air.

She sneezed and grumbled. “I _hate_ March.”

“April showers bring May flowers, Mari,” Alya laughed. “Stay strong.”

“ _April_.”

Marinette’s despairing expression tore another fit of laughter from her friend.

The court was lined up with an absurd number of mini markets, a combination of national and local brands that could probably feed half of Paris on their own. Halal stickers were plastered all over the window shops, suggestive of the ethnic groups that prevailed in the area.

Marinette had to tilt her head to take in the imposing building above her. 30 floors were looking into the yard, with countless little windows all over the dull and grey façade of the residence, sprinkled with satellite dishes. Clothes were hanging from some of them, put to dry, and constituted the sole source of colour in that grey sea of spring-like _La Courneuve_.

The place was strangely deserted despite the colossal number of parked cars. It smelled of smoke and concrete and pollution, with a pungent odour Marinette didn’t quite recognise, spicy and enticing, like a more pleasant version of cigarette scent.

She could hear the distant laughter of children laughing somewhere, and the distinct clic-clac of their heels against the cemented sidewalk.

Her insides twisted uncomfortably and she quickened her pace.

The place had an aura she definitely didn’t like.

They passed by a broken-down playground, tagged with the same delicacy as the rest of the suburbs, and walked over yellow and dead patches of grass here and there. They neared the entrance of the building and Marinette noted that there were debris of bins and benches almost everywhere. A group of men was standing at the door, hoods over their heads as they whispered to each other. It was probably something funny because they started laughing and caught Marinette’s attention.

She regretted instantly.

She met the gaze of one of them, a North African, and the glare he threw her sent a shiver run down her spine.

She looked away and hurried closer to Alya, ignoring the reeking scent of cheap deodorant and sweat as she rushed past them. Ignoring the distinct rustling of a plastic bag in the pocket of one of them.

The inside of the building was even more decrepit than the outside, Flaked walls nearly invisible under the amount of graffitis covering them. The heavy smell of mould and cigarette was filling the air, and the floor, once green zinc, was black with dirt.

“You’re lucky,” Pierre announced as they neared the lift. “The elevator isn’t down.” He pressed the call button, visibly euphoric. “Luck is on our side, today.”

Agnès and Alya laughed, but all Marinette could manage was a crisped smile as they walked inside the tiny compartment.

They had to go through rows of corridors before finally reaching the right apartment.

“Each floor,” Agnès explained, “is a multitude of small studios with all kinds of people. It’s funny because it makes life livelier than downtown.”

“And what’s this smell?” Alya asked, sniffing the spicy scent of foreign food.

“It’s our Moroccan neighbour,” Pierre answered, chuckling. “She’s got some fairy fingers or something. She makes the best food around, and in quantities. Definitely should try out her food someday, girls.”

They reached a red wooden door, with a slightly rotten frame, and Agnès moved to open it.

“After you, ladies,” she announced, holding the door for them.

Contrary to the rest of the building, the apartment was actually pretty neat.

Marinette’s first thought was that it smelled of lavender.

The second one was that it was absolutely cozy and cute.

It was an average sized studio, with a central living room and two rooms -the doors were closed, and Marinette figured they were probably a closet and the bathroom.

The couch was a fluffy white sofa-bed, facing a small tv set and a transparent coffee table, with a couple of bean bags at each side of the table.

The walls were immaculate white, and the floor vinyl parquet. Light was pouring, soothing and warm, despite the evident grey sky outside.

There was an in-wall bookcase with perfectly tidied books, even a flower vase.

It was perfect.

Too perfect.

And it was off.

“Please do feel at home, girls.”

Agnès was still smiling, walking past them to the kitchenette in the living room. Marinette realised she was still standing in the middle of the room, aimless.

She shook her head and laughed nervously. “O-Oh right! I w-was just thinking that your apartment is really adorable.”

At that, Agnès beamed, glad, and picked a tray to prepare. “Pierre and I fell in love with the whole neighbourhood a few years ago! We decided to move here and life has never been this bright.” She laughed. “The city was too noisy, too stressful, too crowded. In Paris, people are tired of people. Here, even though it doesn’t look like it, everyone is nice under the shell.”

“You’re one to talk,” Pierre crooned, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge. “No one hates Parisians like you do.”

“They’re detestable.”

“But you’re Parisian, honey.”

Marinette felt a laugh escape her, and the strange feeling of unease leave her.

It was only because it was the suburbs that she was so wary, right?

Agnès and Pierre weren’t so bad.

_No need to be so pessimistic, Mari._

Alya was smiling from the flat door, a hand on her hip as she watched her friend finally have fun.

She knew she had been a bit too stressed out lately.

Getting this interview was the perfect occasion to get her out of her room, and she felt genuinely glad for inviting her.

She cleared her throat and called her friend out. “Come on, girl, we’ve got an interview to make.”

The brunette glanced at her, the corners of her mouth quirked up in that Marinette smile of hers. “Sure, let’s.”

And just like that, both girls were now sitting on the bean bags, Alya on her phone preparing the frame, and Marinette with a notebook in her hands.

Agnès and Pierre were soon to join them, though they both sat on the couch to face the two girls. Agnès set the tray down on the table, and Pierre held a little shoe box in his hands.

Alya turned on the camera of her phone on and started filming herself. “Hello miraculers! Today, spots on an exclusive interview with Agnès and Pierre Mercier. This interview, my dear ones, could be the most mindblowing revelation of the history of the Ladyblog. Yes, you heard me well. Who are Ladybug and Chat Noir, our two favourite superheroes? Theories are leaking! Stay connected!”

She turned her phone and started filming the duo.

“So, Agnès, Pierre, you’re miraculers, aren’t you?” They nodded enthusiastically and she went on. “How did you fall in love with our two heroes?”

“It was a few months ago,” Agnès said. “I was akumatised.”

Marinette abruptly looked up from her notes and scrutinised the slender model-like woman.

Agnès was an akuma?

Why didn’t she remember her?

“Do you remember why?” Alya asked.

“Well, there wasn’t a reason, really,” Agnès replied. “I was just walking down the street, and the next thing I knew, I was an akuma.”

Marinette frowned.

No, that wasn’t how it worked.

She glanced at Alya, but the journalist didn’t seem ticked off by the information, if not even more enthusiastic.

The woman went on. “I was the Cloner. Basically, I could clone everything at will. It was an incredible power, but somehow I had the feeling that I _wanted_ to use it to destroy everything and everyone.”

“So you remember being an akuma?”

“Yes, of course.”

This time, Alya’s smile faltered a bit and she quickly looked at Marinette. They didn’t need words to communicate, the message was all too clear.

 _Something was off_.

Pierre and Agnès looked at each other, a slight flash of panic in their gaze and Pierre stammered, a bit too quickly.

“Agnès always had a particularly amazing memory.”

It wasn’t a question of memory.

Mari knew her power was made to cause instant amnesia to the victims.

She bit the inside of her cheek, uneasy, and went back to her notes.

It should reassure her to know they were hoaxes.

Their theory was probably as false.

But why couldn’t she shake off the sinking feeling in her stomach?

“H-How about the Ladybug and Chat Noir theory, then?” She stuttered.

Agnès gaze lit up. “They came to save me! It was such an amazing battle, so synchronised, so incredible. So thrilling!”

“You always get so excited about this, huh?” Pierre teased, tone a bit unnatural, as if practiced, and slowly, the façade was shattering.

“Yes! Now let’s get to the best part,” she exclaimed.

Pierre tightened his grip on the box, Marinette noted, and the corners of his mouth twitched, as if fighting a smile.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir left as soon as I was purified. Probably because they were going to de-transform. But while I was the Cloner, I managed to get _this_.” She opened the box, and pulled out a red ribbon. Marinette’s eyes widened. “I cloned Ladybug’s ribbons.”

Marinette couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

She stared at Alya in horror, who glanced back at her, jaw clenched.

“Shouldn’t the Lucky Charm have made it disappear?” Alya asked.

“It’s a sign,” Agnès declared, irrevocable.

Marinette gulped. “A sign?”

“One that the Lucky Charm wants me to become a Ladybug too.” She looked at Pierre, who encouraged her with a smile. “I loved the thrill of the fight, I want to live it again, everyday. These ribbons are the sign that I can become a Ladybug too. To the sole condition that Ladybug shares her miraculous earrings with me.”

There was something like pure joy and enthusiasm in her gaze, happiness and excitement.

But Marinette could only feel a dreadful weight in her stomach.

_Her ribbons?_

And where did this stupid idea of becoming a twin Ladybug come from?

It was pure madness.

She looked down at her notebook and faked scribbling, unable to look at the couple by fear of giving herself away because of her nervousness.

She heard Alya continue. “And you’re planning on discovering who Ladybug is?”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Pierre said. “Both need twins.”

“We have done research,” Agnès went on, pulling a huge cardboard from behind the couch. “To figure out who Ladybug and Chat Noir truly are.”

Marinette abruptly looked up, mouth dry. Her heart was beating fast, too fast.

They were a hoax, for sure.

Nothing matched with what she knew of akumas and herself.

But when she saw her picture on the cardboard, she felt the blood drain from her face.

“We started our research based on the history book clue, on the _Ladyblog_ ,” Agnès explained. “The possibilities are infinite, and the schools are numerous, but because you two are from _Collège Françoise Dupont_ , we will show you the plan.”

The cardboard displayed a red string that connected several pictures -Juleka’s, Rose’s, Alya’s, Marinette’s. A green string was, for its part, connecting the boys Nathaniel, Kim, even Adrien and… Miss Bustier, the teacher.

Some pictures were crossed out, like Nino’s, others were circled. Colourful tabs covered each photograph, and Marinette felt like she was suffocating.

“We work based on specific criterias,” Agnès said. “It is a well known fact that Ladybug likes pasta. Look at this. _Juleka_ is _eating pasta in this particular picture._ ”

“It would definitely not be your friend Sabrina, because she goes shopping at H&M which is definitely not where Ladybug would go.”

“We also have this headcanon where Chat Noir may be a woman.”

Marinette choked on her soda.

“S-Sorry, I drank too fast,” she blurted, coughing. “Please, go on.”

Pierre eyed her strangely, but still went on. “Their teacher. She likes salad. What _we_ have figured is that salad is green, red’s diametrical opposite. Green, like a certain parisian hero. Being a woman would be the best cover.”

_Now they were doing it on purpose, right?_

“And Juleka has long hair. Enough to cover her miraculous earrings,” Agnès added. “We still need to check her ears, but we are very confident it’s her.”

Pierre nodded. “We were thinking of Rose at first. But she likes baby rose, which clashes horribly with red.”

“But she _wears_ pink, she's not pink,” Alya intervened, eyebrow arched. “Have you imagined her in red?”

“Do you know something you ought to share with us, Alya?” Agnès sounded suddenly cold, sharp, surprising the two girls.

“We really need any information,” Pierre went on. “That’s why we need you to put us on the _Ladyblog_.”

Alya gulped. “N-No I-I don’t know who Ladybug is.”

They turned to Marinette. “How about you, little girl? You’re drinking light coke. _Just like gymnasts_.”

She widened her eyes. “Are you serious?”

Agnès smirked and pointed at the cardboard. “Your picture isn’t crossed out.”

The air was suddenly too thick to breathe.

Alya turned off her camera. “I think I’ve got enough footage for a video. Maybe we should get going?”

“And _where_ do you think _you’re_ going?”

Pierre and Agnès bore their gaze into Marinette. She barely dared to breath.

“Home?”

And then it happened all too fast.

One second Marinette was putting the soda can down, and the next thing she knew, she was yanked up by strong arms.

She gasped.

“Let’s do something, Ladybug,” Pierre murmured against her ear. “We free your Marinette friend, and you give us your miraculous.”

Pierre pressed Marinette against him, and she felt him step backwards, probably towards the wall.

“Are you crazy?” Alya exclaimed. “I appear on _all_ my _Ladyblog_ videos! I can’t be Ladybug!”

“We know your video tricks,” Agnès sneered, façade instantly shattered.

They were crazy, downright _insane_.

Marinette turned her head to her friend and felt her heart speed up at her distress.

She knew what she had to do.

She knew that it was their only way out of this.

But it had a price that was too big to pay.

She bit down hard on her lip, panic rising like bile in her throat.

 _She had to_ _transform_.

“LET HER GO,” Alya shouted.

“Oh, did we not explain that in the 93, screaming won’t help you?” The woman was simply enjoying the situation at this point, grinning at the way Alya’s face paled. “No one cares about little miseries here. They’re used to worse.”

Marinette needed a plan. Fast.

Strategies and possible courses of action buzzed around in her head like television static, scanning the room, the situation, _everything_ that could get them out of this unharmed.

She had to save Alya.

Her eyes grazed over the discarded cardboard theory sign, now strewn across the floor, red and green strings tangled together in an intricate mess of knots and frazzled ends.

_Green._

The realisation hit her so hard that Marinette nearly had to choke back a sob at the tidal wave of relief that flooded over her.

_Chat Noir._

Chat Noir had promised to follow her.

She had to buy him time.

“Hey, you idiots,” Marinette called out, smirking. Agnès stiffened and she saw it as her cue to press on. “You forgot something on your cardboard. Chat _never_ eats salad.” The entire room blocked at her in silence, and she sputtered to correct herself. “I-I mean I _bet_ he never eats salad h-hahahaha.”

Agnès looked furious. “Of _course_ he does. And your friend here will film us saying that our theory is absolutely right. If not, you might regret it, beauty.”

She beckoned at Pierre, who grabbed Marinette’s right arm and twisted it behind her back. It was an extraordinarily uncomfortable position, and she shuddered at the knowledge that he could break her arm if he wanted to.

She still held Agnès gaze. “So now Alya isn’t Ladybug anymore? She needs to film? Your theory is a one big hole, and you know it!”

“Shut up!”

“You are  _wrong_ and you need to understand this.”

“You're jealous.”

"You're  _crazy_."

The woman walked to her, snarling as she towered over the brunette. “You don’t know _anything_.”

“I do. Hoax.”

Agnès raised her hand, eyes flashing in fury, and Marinette snapped her eyes shut as she braced herself for the hit that she was sure would come.

It didn’t come.

The sound of crashing detonated loudly in her ears, deafening as something - _or someone_ , hit the glass table. She heard the aching groan of the wooden floorboards, and felt something like glass graze her cheek.

Her eyes snapped open just in time to see Agnès go flying into the kitchenette.

Pierre tightened his iron grip around her.

“Sorry I’m late.”

A figure straightened himself from the fallen debris, and although all she could see were the hard line of his back turned away from her, she would have known him anywhere.

She would have known his tousled hair among millions, and the sharp chiselling of his muscles among billions.

She just barely managed to catch the indignant sob of relief that threatened to spill from the back of her throat.

She would have known him anywhere.

He threw a glance over his shoulder, and the pure animalistic rage that flashed in his emerald gaze froze her to the spot. His eyes burnt into hers and she felt herself suck her breath.

“-- _Princess_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaaaa~  
> I hope you loved it!  
> I'm laughing because I /do/ feel like I'm developing some weird food fetish with these past 2 chapters.  
> #LetAdrienEat2k16  
> I ought to warn that the next chapter will probably take just as long to be out because I'm drowning under countless exams these coming weeks and won't be able to write more than 2 paragraphs.
> 
> I started a poll tradition of ffnet, and I figured I could continue it here.  
> So let me know your answers and reactions in the comments!
> 
> "What were your reactionS about Agnès and Pierre?"


	6. With or Without the Suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a new chapter I see?  
> WOW THE HIATUS IS OVER!  
> AND WE'RE CLOSE TO 10K??????  
>   
> I would like to apologise to everyone for the delay this chapter took. As much as I wanted to be less busy during holidays, it happened that the first week was full of college applications, and the second... Well flew by way too fast.  
> And before I even realised it, I hadn't updated for a full month.  
> I'd like to thank you all for the amazing comments I received, for sending me a comment per day to force me to work, for your incredible support and... I just don't have words to express how happy it makes me to know that you like my story.  
> I'd also like to reassure you that I never considered once giving this fic up, so fear not!  
>   
> This might not be the best chapter so far (getting all rusty, huh) but I dedicate this whole chapter to you all, hoping you'll like it, but also to Ria, for being the most amazing beta-reader in the world and for bearing with all my endless brainstorming everyday, to Mia, for being so supportive and forcing me to sleep everyday because one only knows I seriously need it, and to Adrien for being the most incredible cinnamon bun in the world and for his undying faith in my lazy ass.
> 
> EDIT: I have seen a lot of comments lately asking me if this was becoming a full-fledged Marichat fanfiction. I take advantage of the AN to say that this fanfiction can't really be considered as full Marichat or full Ladynoir. It's something in-between as I will be swinging between both of them. Confronting these two pairings was what encouraged me to write this whole story in the first place.  
> Now I'm not saying any more by fear of spoiling, but do keep supporting my story and stay awesome!

Marinette couldn’t move.

Or if she wanted to, somewhere in the sudden blackout of her mind, her body refused to obey.

The air was dry and heavy around her, despite the breeze that invaded the apartment from the shattered window.

Glass clinked, resonated, and Chat tensed before her, fingers tightening around his stretched baton as he awaited Agnès’s counteraction, watched her as she tried to understand the situation.

Marinette couldn’t move.

But Ladybug could, and it wasn’t long before the hero's instinct took over the numb body of the little girl.

Swiftly, she kicked Pierre, earning her a curse and the sick feeling of having hurt a civilian. The attack loosened the librarian’s grip from around Marinette and she pushed her body backwards to make him lose his balance. She spun and whatever control Pierre still had over her was suddenly nothing but a bad memory, there was a _snap_ as the sofa groaned under the shift of his weight. Marinette seized Alya’s wrist and, without a single glance towards her partner, ran down into the staircase.

Her mind buzzed like a thousand radio interferences as she scurried down the stairs, full of thoughts yet empty all the same. She couldn’t think straight, but thinking was unnecessary.

For the moment, throwing one foot before the other was the only task at hand.

It was the only thing she allowed herself to focus on, until she felt something pull at her hand. She stopped, somewhere between the seventh and the sixth floor, and turned around, only to meet huge hazel eyes and the crestfallen expression of her best friend.

“Mari…” Alya whispered, and her voice, in the silence of the staircase, went out like a gasp, strangled, as if it had truly taken her an effort to talk. “I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t know I…”

Marinette stared at her friend, startled. “Huh?”

It took her a full second to understand, for her mind to start working again, fogged and rusted like a drowned watch. It took her a moment to remember that there was something other than her instinct to take into consideration.

She stared at the brunette in front of her, but the shine of her friend’s eyes wasn’t something she completed understood in the chaos of the situation.

“Alya…”

“I’m sorry, Marinette, it’s all my fault…”

“What do you mean?”

Then, it was clear, and it surprised Marinette that it didn’t come to her sooner. She clicked her tongue, and rested her hands on the journalist’s shoulders, keeping them steady as she drilled her gaze into Alya's.

“Alya,” she started. “Whatever happens, Alya, this is not your fault. We both knew that coming here was make or break. Yes, your informers ended up being crazy psychopaths, but Chat was here, okay? And we’re both safe. Now we need to run outside and call the cops.”

Marinette’s blue gaze was unwavering, determined as it bore into Alya's. It was vivid, yet serene at the same time, the kind of gleam only one who knew what they were doing could harbour, and the journalist was taken aback by its intensity.

It was as though Marinette could transmit all her level-headedness to Alya with the sole depth of her stare.

_‘I can’t believe this.’_

_‘But I’m serious, Alya. I just- I’m frozen whenever I see him.’_

_‘The worst thing that could happen would be him saying no.’_

_‘You don’t get it. I don’t have that kind of confidence.’_

_‘Mari, whoever stands up to Chloe can ask Adrien Agreste to go to the cinema.’_

_‘I’m not as level-headed as you, Alya. I’ll just end up ridiculing myself because I can’t say a single coherent word in front of him. Best thing that could happen would be me just having all the lockers crash onto one another while asking him.’_

_‘You’re exaggerating.’_

_‘Stop laughing, Alya!’_

_‘I can’t help it, Mari. You have it bad, girl.’_

Had the situation been different, maybe Alya would’ve laughed at Marinette this time too.

 _Not as level-headed as me, huh, Mari_ , she thought.

But Marinette was right.

Now was not the time to feel down, they had a role to play.

They had to get out safely and call the police.

She nodded, and the slightest shadow of a smile hovered on the ravenette’s lips before they both raced down the stairs.

When they passed through the old aluminium doors of the building, the heavy scent of grease was replaced with the distinct smell of gasoline and pot. The group of men from before had vanished and the courtyard was now empty, disconcertingly silent despite the chaos they had escaped.

Marinette’s hand tightened in Alya’s, and a single glance towards the fashion designer indicated that she was searching for something specific in their foreign surroundings. Something Alya clearly had no idea about.

“Mari-”

“There!”

Marinette pointed at a small passageway at the right of the playground. It was hard to spot for whoever wasn’t searching for it specifically, tiny, really, but as Marinette zigzagged between the filthy slides and spring-riders, a lining of shops they had seen moments ago came into view, and Alya recognised the car park Pierre had stopped in.

Without stopping, Marinette pushed the door of the first shop open and slipped inside, Alya behind her.

It was a local grocery shop, with a thousand shelves plastered all over the walls in a desperate attempt to stock everything it was selling. It was an atypical architecture, and it looked like an Aladdin’s cave where chaos wasn’t quite chaos, and where gold was replaced by pens, diaper boxes, biscuits, and so many things Marinette wasn’t entirely sure she could list.

A massive counter hid the backshop where, she assumed everything not stocked on the shelves was being stored. The counter in itself, despite the countless age-old stickers plastered over its scratched glass, held pastries, and various dairies, indicating that this wasn’t just your regular grocery shop, but a sort of mix between that and a dairy shop. Something both girls had never seen in their respective Parisian neighbourhoods.

A pair of bars hung on the wall surface between the door and the main counter, and stools allowed clients to sit and consume on the spot.

When they entered, only one other man occupied the building; a younger man donned in a leather jacked with his hair shaved on either sides. Marinette couldn't shake the feeling that he reminded her of someone.

He bit into his sandwich and the crunching sound resonated in the silence of the grocery shop. She recognised him when she met his black gaze for the second time that day.

He was the man who had stopped her at the entrance of the building earlier.

A strange feeling settled in Marinette’s stomach at his sight, a feeling she couldn’t quite name, but she was convinced that it wasn’t a reassuring one. Something in the glare he shot her, or the nonchalant posture of his shoulders, the air that he was better than her.

She turned to Alya. “We need to call the police.”

Intuitively, Marinette reached for her purse, where she knew Tikki was safely tucked away, along with her phone, but her hand found nothing but air.

Her eyes snapped to her hip, and she felt her heart stop when she couldn’t find the familiar pink pouch. Cold sweat seemed to trickle down her spine and for a second, the world seemed to stop spinning around her.

 _Tikki_.

It was all a succession of disjointed pictures that unreeled through her mind, playing again and again the mere seconds it had taken for Chat to arrive and for them to bolt down the stairway. She saw the broken glass table, heard the sofa screech against the ground, smelled the soda as it spilled on the floorboards.

_Had Pierre grabbed her pouch?_

_Did the strap break when she'd been trying to get free from his grip?_

Bile threatened to fill her throat at the thought the librarians had found her kwami, and for a moment, she forgot where she was entirely until Alya snapped her back to reality.

“Marinette, is everything okay? You’re as white as a sheet.”

The girl looked up at her friend, aghast. “My purse…”

Alya’s gaze snapped, in turn, to Marinette’s hip in realisation. But the significance of the missing bag was lost on the reporter as she looked back at her friend.

“I need to get back inside,” Marinette whispered.

“Have you lost your mind, Mari? We can’t,” Alya flashed. “It’s just your phone, right? We’ll use mine to call the cops. But you’re not going back there.”

Emphasising her point, she grabbed her own device and unlocked the screen. The familiar “click” jerked Marinette from her stupor and she snatched the phone from her friend’s hands.

“No!” she exclaimed.

She couldn’t let the police, or anyone for that matter find Tikki. Especially Chat.

She had to get her kwami back.

“Marinette, are you crazy? Did you hit your head somewhere? You said yourself we need to call for help.”

Realising how sudden her reaction might’ve seemed, she lowered her hand and started laughing nervously.

“I-I’m sorry, Alya, it’s…” she searched for words, looking around the still silent shop. “It’s the emotion. I really need my purse I- What if Chat needs help? Stay here and call the police. I need to get Chat.”

She moved her hand to give the phone back to its rightful owner, but Alya grabbed her shoulders instead.

“Marinette,” she uttered. “You’re staying here with me, there is no way I'm letting you go back there. Chat is a superhero, he can handle that on his own. You’re a _normal_ girl, Marinette.”

The words struck something in Marinette, and although she knew that Alya was unaware she was Ladybug, it pained her.

But she swallowed back her pride and averted her gaze.

“What if mom calls?” she tried.

Alya let go of one of Marinette’s shoulders and grabbed the phone, swiftly dialing the set of numbers on the tactile screen.

Her fingers didn’t hesitate once.

* * *

 

Pierre lunged after the two girls, but was blocked by a sharp pain in his chest when he tried to exit the door.

Staring down, he saw a silver baton blocking the way.

“I dare you to go after them.”

Chat’s voice was clear, sharp, in the silence of the loft, and it caused Pierre to freeze at the doorstep as he tried to duck under the baton.

Glass cracked under the superhero’s feet as he walked towards the librarian, blood pounding in his ears.

He was _fuming_.

There was no other way to describe the pure cold rage that spread through his veins.

It was a strange feeling.

A violent need to hurt those who hurt his friends.

A need Adrien wasn’t used to, but somehow twisted its way into his chest.

But a voice in his mind screamed that it wasn’t him and he forced back the storm that was raging inside of him.

When he reached Pierre, the librarian almost instinctively moved back, allowing Chat to shut the door, and ensuring Marinette and Alya’s escape.

“How low must you be to attack middleschoolers?”

Although it sounded like a question, Chat wasn’t sure he wanted an answer, or even needed one.

It was more of a desolated comment, a spoken thought of how scandalising their action was rather than a hope to correct their wrong. Was telling a criminal they were doing bad things anything other than just pointing out the obvious?

“You’re Chat Noir,” Agnès whispered behind him, and he turned to meet her chestnut eyes across the room.

She had sat up, though unmoved from the spot she had landed on. Her eyes gleamed of something Chat recognised as awe, admiration; true joy that felt strange regarding the circumstances, and it took him aback for a second.

“That’s not the question,” he finally said, squinting defiantly.

“This must be fate,” Agnès went on, slightly oscillating as she stood up. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for so long. We _had to_.”

Chat pursed his lips, eyebrows curving downward. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s team up.”

“What?”

“Share your miraculous with us! You need help to protect Paris, right?”

His eyes widened in stupefaction and the answer came naturally, instinctive.

“Ladybug and I don’t need any help. We’re already a team.”

His chin collided with the ground almost as soon as he recognised the glint in Agnès’s eyes. It had come fast, but felt unsurprising. When he felt the pain of the impact buzz in his ears, his mind chimed he should’ve seen it coming.

His baton rolled away, stopped by Agnès’ foot. A smirk stretched her glossed lips when he realised it was too far for him to grab.

He groaned and tried to free himself from the sudden weight that pinned him to the ground, coiling and struggling. His assailant was heavy, and he was already twisting Chat’s arms behind his back in an attempt to completely immobilise him.

“We’re sorry, Chat Noir,” Agnès rued. “But we need your miraculous.”

“Did Hawk Moth send you?” Chat spat.

Agnès raised an eyebrow. “Hawk Moth?”

“How do you plan on helping us if you don’t even know who you’re fighting?”

The words left his lips before he could stop them, and although he meant every one of them, the memory of how the Copycat had come to life was still vivid in his mind and for a second, he froze.

“I mean-”

“You think you’re better than everyone because you have superpowers?” Agnès asked, cold. “That we’re not good enough to help you?”

“This is not what-”

“You claim to be helping Paris, but you scorn whoever dares to try and compare with Your Majesties the Superheroes.”

She crouched, drilling her hard gaze in his, lips pursed. Above him, Chat felt Pierre grab his hands and try to loosen their tight clutch.

“If you don’t need our help, then we don’t need yours either,” she concluded, looking up at Pierre with a slight nod.

“Don’t force me to break your wrist to get the ring, kiddo,” Pierre said.

Chat opened his mouth to protest, but was cut out by an all too familiar voice at the door.

“ _Let him go_.”

All three heads turned towards the short girl at the door, suddenly frozen. Her blue eyes sent daggers, and her presence suddenly filled the whole room. It took a while for Chat to notice Alya behind her, holding her phone in what seemed to be a recording position.

Slowly, their plan was falling into place in his mind, and he felt a burst of happiness in his chest.

“We recorded everything you said,” Marinette declared. “Theory included. So let him go.”

“It’s over for you,” Alya chimed, a wide smile plastered on her face.

Chat refocused his attention on Agnès, noticing the way she tensed, jaw clenched in rage. Pierre was visibly scared as his grip on Chat's wrists instantly loosened. Chat took this as his cue to free himself an swiftly twisted out of Pierre's grasp, pulling back his hands and pushing the man aside.

It took Agnès too long to react because Chat was already kicking his baton away from her foot and causing her to lose her balance. When she fell on her husband, the catboy was up and pulling his classmates behind him.

He wouldn’t be able to say if it was his experience ordering his instinct, or luck, but he grabbed the keys on the lock and trapped the two librarians in their appartment before dashing down the stairs.

“What were you two thinking coming back here?” He shot at the girls as they ran.

“I forgot my purse upstairs!” Marinette protested, and Chat felt her trying to pull away from his grip.

“No time for it!”

“I _need_ it!”

He glanced at Alya, who shook her head before answering. “We can’t leave without her transport cards and money.”

He groaned, but didn’t say anything further, focused only on getting his friends out of danger. In his right hand, Marinette was restless, visibly determined to free herself from his iron grip, but he refused to risk her safety. Sighing, he stopped in the middle of the stairway and plunged his gaze in hers.

“I promise I’ll climb back there and get your purse when you’re safe,” he said.

He didn’t expect the expression of pure panic and despair that painted her face when he turned, betraying her previous confidence. And so, he didn’t expect the twitch in his chest, and the urgent need to reassure her, that suddenly overwhelmed him. He didn’t expect the way he felt like drowning in her eyes when he talked again.

“I just want to know that you’re safe and sound, Marinette.”

She didn’t answer, not knowing what to do for a second at the sight of the genuine concern in Chat’s eyes. It was _Chat_ , though. Who was concerned for everyone’s wellbeing, and she knew she shouldn’t be set off by the intensity of his gaze. But she couldn’t help the way her heart fluttered for a second in that moment, or bury the strange feeling of safety that filled her chest. Finally, she gathered the strength to nod, grateful, and they were back to their wild race down the stairs.

When they finally reached the outside, the cold was more biting than before, the clouds lower as they cast a ghostly shade on the desolated playground. Chat seemed lost for a second, and Marinette took it as her cue to take the lead, pulling them towards the small passageway she had spotted moments before.

She felt bad for requisitioning the small grocery shop again, so instead of pushing the door a second time, she stopped in front of it and faced Chat. She opened her mouth to speak when suddenly, an explosion caught their attention, and they all turned their head towards the building they had left moments ago.

A cloud of smoke emerged from one of the windows, and it didn’t take long for Marinette and Chat to understand that Hawk Moth was behind it all.

“They turned into Akuma,” Chat muttered. “I’ll handle this until Ladybug comes. Get inside this shop, and don’t come out under any circumstance.”

All kinds of plans ran through Marinette's mind like a tornado, messy and never satisfying enough. She should have expected them to turn to Akuma, insisted to get her purse back. A bitter taste filled her mouth and the priority was suddenly to get Tikki back. She couldn’t wait around for Chat to get it for her without revealing her identity, especially now that he was going to get busy with the Akuma.

“We need to help you,” she said instinctively.

Unlike with Agnès and Pierre, Chat hesitated to answer her. “Ladybug and I are going to take care of this on our own.”

“We _can_ do something,” she insisted.

“It’s too dangerous, Marinette.”

She scowled. “Remind me who saved you moments ago?”

Chat blinked. “It’s not the same thing. They have dangerous powers now.”

“Trust us, please.”

The boy shook his head. “Marinette, you’re a civilian.”

She pursed her lips, feeling a wave of irritation run through her veins. “But you can’t take care of two Akuma like this on your own.”

“I have a suit that protects me, you don't. I’ll buy enough time for Ladybug to come.”

He sighed, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t doubt your courage, Marinette. But I can’t afford the guilt of you getting hurt. It would reassure me to know you’re away from danger.”

Maybe the Marinette before Ladybug would have reacted differently, accepted without a comment and got to safety. Wait for more competent people to take care of the situation, because she was clumsy Marinette who couldn’t do a single thing right. She would have been scared.

But that was old Marinette, and she refused to let Chat fight these Akuma on his own. Especially not when he needed _her_.

“We can use a ruse to distract them and minimise the damages,” she insisted. “We have the video, that’s what they want.”

“Marinette,” Alya interfered. “I’m usually the first one to jump into dangerous situations like these, but this time it’s just too dangerous.”

“Alya-”

“Let’s wait for Ladybug.”

“What if she never comes?” Marinette burst.

Chat tensed.

Of course his Lady would come, right?

A distant voice murmured in his ear again, the way it had been for the past two weeks, ghostly, scornful, mocking.

_You do the dirty jobs I wouldn’t do myself._

“She’ll come,” he insisted, brushing away the now-familiar sting in his heart. “She’ll help me. We’re a team.”

To put a halt to the conversation, he opened the door and pushed the two girls inside, running towards the playground they had just left.

Inside of the shop, Marinette was beside herself.

“He _needs_ our help,” she growled. “He can’t take care of this on his own!”

“Marinette, he needs _Ladybug_ , not us,” Alya answered, adamant. “Do you think I'm enjoying this any more than you?”

The ravenette was silent, too mad to even attempt to reason with her friend, for fear of blowing her identity.

“Don’t worry, Mari,” Alya went on. “We called the police, they should be here in no time and help Chat Noir.”

That’s right. They had called the police before she had convinced Alya to go back inside. But, Marinette knew neither the police or Chat could handle the Akuma without Ladybug, and it made her nervous.

Suddenly, a little voice came from behind the counter, and caught the girls’ attention.

“Ladybug is coming?”

It was a boy, maybe one or two years younger than Alya and Marinette. Blonde dyed hair, shaved on the sides in that haircut that seemed so popular in the neighbourhood, crowned his exotic head. He wasn’t extremely skinny, but his sportswear clothes made him look taller than he actually was, made his eyes look bigger as he stared at them with hoping eyes.

Marinette opened her mouth to talk, when she spotted three other children behind him, curious despite their obvious shyness.

“Of course she’s coming, kiddo,” Alya declared, voice dripping in unfaltering faith before Marinette could say a thing.

The answer seemed to light up the children’s faces and confidence flooded their expressions.

“She's never come here, to the suburbs. My big brother says that’s because we’re a hopeless case, and tourists are more important to save anyway,” the first boy said. “But I knew she would come someday!”

Marinette felt something heavy drop in her stomach.

It was true.

Why? Because she was scared of this place? Was she unconsciously prioritising some lives over others?

She had never spared a thought to this area of Paris. Suddenly, she felt guilty.

“Of course, she’s coming,” the fashion designer repeated, unable to suppress a smile when the boy’s own lips stretched further. “You’re as important as anyone else.”

The boy turned to his friends. “I told you Ladybug was as amazing as the TV says!”

“But why isn’t she here yet?” Another boy asked.

Marinette blinked. “She uhm… She got delayed. Maybe she got lost because she doesn’t know the area very well.”

The first boy’s eyes gleamed. “She should’ve told us! We know the area by heart!”

“Really?” The fashion designer couldn’t help but inquire.

“Oh yes! Abdel is the best guide out here,” a third boy exclaimed, pointing at the first boy.

“We’re the kings of the 93!”

The children giggled, and the sight gave Marinette an idea. Almost immediately, her mind was forging a new plan to get her purse back.

“Would you draw a plan for me? So that my friend and I can help Chat Noir contain the villains until Ladybug arrives?”

The suggestion seemed to enlighten the little boys, who probably suddenly felt like the fate of the world rested in their hands. One of them, the youngest, jolted.

“Of course we can!”

Marinette felt her lips stretch in the widest of smiles, and a surge of excitement ran through her veins as she turned to Alya. “We need to guide the police so as not to attract attention. That way we’ll help Chat Noir.”

Her friend smirked, eyes already twinkling with that mischievous Alya gleam. Now that was something she could jump into.

A sound of carillon behind the counter caused the girls to look up, and Marinette’s eyes met those of the man who appeared in the doorframe of the backshop, the very same eyes she had just met for the third time that day.

His voice, deep, held a slightly accented French when he spoke.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT²: I just realised I completely forgot the poll tradition, oh man, oh man, I'm seriously rusty here.
> 
> For whoever is just checking the chapter (or re-checking), here's the P O L L
> 
> Mysterious man: Goodie or Baddie?


	7. Mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THIS CAREFULLY PLEASE: This whole ark is set in the Parisian suburbs, in the area commonly referred to as the 93 (Actually Seine-Saint-Denis). I want to remind you that this is a work of fiction, and that some events might be exaggerated for the sake of plot. Although the Cités do exist in Seine-Saint-Denis and /can/ be as dangerous as depicted below (cités are what you would call dormitory towns with public housing, and the first thing that comes to mind when you hear "93"), the area is overall not as chaotic las I may have made it sound. There are a lot of universities there that people go to from all over the world, the Stadium of France is in Seine-Saint-Denis as well, and because the houses are too expensive in intra-muros Paris, a lot of people move to the suburbs where the houses are bigger and cheaper.  
> Outside of the gated cités, everything is relatively safe, so do not take my story as a perfect depiction of the 93.  
> I've been inspired by those, but instead of sending Marinette straight into such places, I preferred to create a sort of "imaginary" in-between.  
> This counts for the police as well.
> 
> Now that I pointed this out, you may read, and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as much as I did :)
> 
> PS: I accidentally misclicked "Post" instead of "Save", which led an unfinished chapter 7 to be posted. I deleted it as fast as I could, but if you did read it, do know it wasn't the right version!

Abdel was the first to speak.

“Oh look, Mr. Tough Guy.”

The man’s eye twitched. His lips pursed, but the elbows he rested on the counter indicated that he wasn’t stranger to that kind of provocation from the younger boy. “Isn’t that the desperado who’s _supposed_ to be under my watch.”

“I’m not under the watch of weaklings.”

“ _W_ _atch your words_ ,” the man growled, and for a second, Marinette’s heart stopped at the thought of what was coming for little Abdel.

“Maybe Uncle Maâti will enjoy knowing that you steal his weed for your friends, Driss.”

The man straightened his back and pushed away from the counter, dark eyes sending daggers as he closed the gap between him and his brother.

It happened in a blink and when the hit struck, Alya gasped.

Marinette had interfered between the two, shielding Abdel with her body just as he instinctively brought his arm up to protect his face.

The slap hurt, and she felt a sudden surge of heat in her cheek, stinging like no blush could ever make her feel. She had never been slapped before, and the impact threatened to make her spill tears she was suddenly determined not to show, even as her cheek felt like combusting, even as it pulsed and felt like exploding.

Driss was stunned, astounded as he simply stared at the petite girl he had hit, speechless for a second.

 _He had just hit a_ _girl_ _._

A girl who was staring at him with piercing blue eyes that shone with denied tears, a gaze that drilled into his and told him she didn’t regret her action in the slightest.

Suddenly, he wanted to be far away from here.

“Marinette!” Her brunette friend exclaimed as she rushed to her. She stared at Driss and wrapped her arms protectively around the Marinette girl. The hazel eyes that met his burnt with such hatred that for a second, he almost thought he felt ashamed.

Maybe he was.

But she was young and the thought of taking lessons from a teenager flared his ego and drowned whatever shame he should’ve felt.

Which was exactly why he didn’t apologise.

“This was between me, and my brother,” he said. “She got the hit she deserved for interfering.”

He shoved his stinging hands in his pockets, looking down at the two girls in an attempt to intimidate them. Expectedly, their gaze didn’t diminish in intensity, but they didn’t speak back.

Behind Marinette, Abdel and his friends seemed as speechless as him. He beckoned them to the door.

“Get out.”

They all scrambled in a panic towards the door. All except for Abdel.

Abdel the Desperado who had no idea of danger. Who was staring at Driss with more shock than hatred, unsure whether to run or stay.

Finally, the boy made a choice and bolted to the backshop.

 _Who’s the coward now_ , Driss thought.

“They’re not coming,” he said, refocusing his attention on the girls.

It was the Chinese girl who spoke first, the one he had hit. “Who?”

“The police. They never come for simple aggressions.”

“But they said-” the brunette started.

It tore a snort from him. “Do people always mean what they say?”

The girls remained silent, and it wasn’t hard for Driss to guess that they came from the privileged neighbourhoods, towards Paris probably. With a sigh, he moved back behind the counter and started to rummage through the mayhem of icecreams in the freezer.

“You should leave,” he declared.

“We can’t,” Marinette retorted.

He stopped, pondering his options. He needed to find a way to make them leave the area.

He remembered them talking earlier about a purse, their navigo cards. His hand left the freezer to grab a few coins in his pocket and he unceremoniously slammed them on the counter.

“Now you can.”

“I’m not running away with my tail between my legs and money in my pocket, _Mr. Tough Guy_.”

He didn’t answer. She went on.

“We’re just asking for a plan of the area to help the police distract the Akuma. You don’t need to deal with them.”

“The cops don’t come here,” he said, tone final and laced with irritation.

“There’s an Akuma attack,” her friend protested.

“And so what?”

Marinette was puzzled. “What do you mean what?”

Driss stood up, throwing a small bag of ice at the ravenette. “Just because you come from the centre where the police comes for every single one of your problems doesn’t mean it’s the same everywhere.” He leaned towards them, menacing. “Akuma? Say that to people who see Kalashnikovs and assault rifles like you see tourists down the Eiffel Tower. You know how much a bullet costs up here? 1 euro, sweetie. Gunfights are everyday business. Do you think the cops will make the difference between that and this?”

The Chinese girl held his gaze, frown growing deeper and deeper with each of his words, even as she winced from the bag she pressed against her cheek. “So you mean Chat Noir is fighting on his own?”

Driss scoffed. “Isn’t his Lady coming to help him?”

Marinette blinked, visibly taken aback. Another explosion resonated outside, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice murmured that it was indeed no different than a grenade’s. But she couldn’t suppress the wave of worry that ran through her for her partner.

“Fine,” she said. “If you’re not going to help us, then we’re going to handle this on our own. If 11 years-old are braver than you, maybe you should start reconsidering your values.”

Without a single glance towards Driss, she put the bag of ice down on the counter, and grabbed Alya’s wrist to exit the shop. She didn’t see the stupefaction painted on his face, or the hurt, or the way he waited for them to go out to slowly sit and bury his face in his hands. Marinette didn’t see any of that.

She didn’t care.

“I can’t believe he said that,” Marinette fumed as she slammed the door shut behind her.

“He  _slapped_ you,” Alya vociferated. “I can’t believe he _did_ that.”

“Well, technically, he meant to slap his brother,” Marinette corrected. “But it doesn’t mean his action was any less wrong!”

Alya didn’t answer. She knew she would’ve beaten him to a pulp, had she not been sure it would've been a waste of both her time and energy.

Instead of walking right back into the shop, she turned to Marinette, clear-cut as she spoke. “Show me your cheek.”

The ravenette complied without a word, turning to face her friend as Alya thoroughly observed the pale skin of her cheek. Fortunately, it didn’t leave a trace or grow bluer, and the journalist let out a sigh of relief.

“You just ran between that bastard and his brother,” she grumbled.

“Instinct?” Marinette supplied, letting out a small laugh.

They didn’t notice the small group of children who had bundled against the shop’s wall waiting for the girls to notice their presence. At least not until Marinette took a step backwards and felt a leg against her calf.

She gasped, and abruptly turned. “You!”

The boy she had touched gave her a toothy smile. “We were waiting here for you, in case something happened!”

Alya, startled, put her hands on her hips. “Really?”

“Yes! We didn’t want such cute girls to be hurt by Driss,” the same boy went on.

“Now that’s very brave of you,” Marinette said, crouching to ruffle their short hair. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she felt unable to stop it.

“We want to help you with Chat Noir,” another boy declared.

Marinette was about to answer, when a now familiar voice interrupted her. She turned, and saw Abdel running towards them, something blue tightly held in front of him. He stopped in front of the two girls, out of breath, panting but finally revealing the bag of ice in his hands. He handed it to Marinette.

“Driss had to think I was gone,” he rasped, hands on his knees. “But I ran to the house from the backdoor to get you this, m’am.” He stopped, taking a deep breath, and finally tilted his head towards Marinette and Alya. He handed them a folded paper. “And this.”

Alya raised an eyebrow, carefully taking the sheet from the boy’s hands. When she unfolded it, a gasp escaped her lips and she swiftly turned towards Marinette.

“It’s the plan.”

The fashion designer’s eyes widened and she looked back at the boy, adrenaline rushing down her veins again.

“You drew it for _us_?” She asked, aghast.

“Of course! We really want to help,” Abdel replied, luminous.

Another explosion filled the silence, and Marinette felt her lips stretch into the widest of smiles when she turned towards Alya. “Do you think we can stitch a plan to save the cat from the bath?”

“Do you think we _can’t_?”

Marinette smirked.

* * *

 

_‘You shouldn’t mind Driss,’ Abdel said, checking the length of the string before cutting it with his pocket knife._

_‘I_ do _mind him,’ Alya retorted behind Marinette’s shoulder. She was looking at the plan Marinette was carefully copying on a separate paper._

_Abdel laughed. ‘He’s not very courageous. Actually, he’s the biggest coward I’ve ever known. Violence is his way not to admit it.’_

_‘What do you mean?’ Marinette asked._

_‘Troubles terrify him. Cops, danger… He stays away from it. It’s so natural for him to avoid sticking his head out that he forces his cowardness on other people. Most of the time, violence helps him convince.’_

Marinette beckoned at her team to stay silent, peeking at the Akuma from the corner of the pathway.

The fog had gained in intensity, rolling on the ground like waves of smoke that swallowed everything on their way. Exactly the way Ilias, Abdel’s right-hand man, had predicted. Marinette tightened her coat around herself, a faint cloud escaping her mouth when she breathed out.

_‘He didn’t mean to hurt you.’_

_‘That’s not what he said,” Marinette grunted._

_There was a silence before Abdel’s lips curled. ‘Do people always mean what they say?’_

“What is it, kitty? You’re not fighting anymore?”

Marinette’s eyes scanned the area, quick and calculating, rewinding the scheme she had memorised by heart. The plan was simple, but needed a precise execution.

The Akuma went on, unaware of her spying.

“Fleeing the danger, dodging the hits. How brave of you, Chat Noir. Are you waiting for Ladybug to save your whiskers?”

Agnès and Pierre had turned into one very same Akuma who now stood on top of one of the broken down slides.

They had turned into a genderless creature, slender, clad in a black and green suit that reminded Marinette of her own costume, though dot-less. Their face was hidden behind a huge yin and yang mask, circular like a road-sign, peculiar in the way it harboured the colours of Ladybug- red and black on the yang, and Chat Noir’s- black and green on the yin. They held in their right hand a yoyo, identical to Ladybug’s minus the fact it bore the same colours as their suit- Chat's colours. Parallel, the baton in their left hand was the exact same as Chat’s, but in black and red. Two scarlet ribbons were loosely tied around their wrists.

The creature spoke again, and Marinette had to suppress a shudder at the strident sound of Agnès and Pierre’s voices in unison.

“Give us your miraculous, Chat Noir.”

“You’re no fun, I thought we were playing _chat perché_ ,” Chat snickered. “Sore losers, much?”

The yoyo flew, and Marinette felt the ground shake under her when it collided with it. She turned her head towards the little group of children behind her, searching for confirmation in their eyes.

They nodded, and her gaze met Alya’s, vibrant with determination.

On the playground, Chat’s voice resonated again. “For Ladybug fans, it’s a shame you can’t even use a yoyo correctly.”

The baton stretched this time, hissing as it sliced the air, clinking as it collided with Chat’s. The Akuma had jumped from their spot and was now engaging in a sort of sword fight with the leather-clad hero, movements quick, blind from rage. They were falling into Chat’s trap.

Marinette nodded once towards the little group and it immediately dispersed. Swiftly, they reached their designated spots, helped by the growing fog that dissimulated them, running through the shortcuts they had indicated on the sketch. It wasn’t long before the plan came into action.

“Ladybug is the best!” A child’s voice exclaimed in the haze. “Do you think she’s coming?”

The Akuma turned towards the sound, halted in their momentum.

Somewhere else, another voice called out. “Yasmine, Yasmine, let’s play Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

“Chat Noir will get the Akuma!”

Slowly, the silent playground was filled with children’s voices, and suddenly, the enemy didn’t know where to look anymore.

_‘Guerilla.’_

_Marinette raised an eyebrow at Alya. ‘What?’_

_The brunette chuckled. ‘Another history class you missed because of your toilet emergencies?’_

_‘W-Well, I uhm… Have a sensitive stomach,’ Marinette stammered._

_‘What’s with the guerillas, Alya?’ Abdel asked excitedly._

_‘Poke, provoke, withdraw.’_

_The little group stared at the journalist, confused pairs of eyes fixated on her. The sight tore a sigh from her, but it was expected and so she elaborated. ‘We need small groups effectively and safely dispersed to confuse the enemy, make them incoherently mad and less focused. Make them easier to take down.’_

“They’re not heroes!” The Akuma vociferated. “They’re selfish liars!”

“Lucky Charm!” Another child chimed.

The Akuma shot its yoyo towards the sound. It collided with something metallic, wrapped around it from the way the string stretched. When the creature tried to pull it back, something unexpected happened. They seemed to have trouble controlling their yoyo, as if they hadn't quite mastered. It took them a certain effort to yank it, until the creaking sound of twisted iron resonated and the jungle gym fell down, dissipating the fog for a second.

Marinette didn’t move, didn’t gasp, didn’t scream.

She didn’t shout a name, or ran into the line of fire.

Because she knew the kids weren’t where the Akuma thought they were.

And everything was going according to plan.

Chat, on the other hand, ignored everything about the plan. Muscles tense, he darted towards the jungle gym, baton stretched to protect him and the “kid”.

He froze when he was met with nothing to save.

Nothing aside from the soda can that poked out of one of the pipes.

_‘So, you really think this is going to work?’_

_Lucas fidgeted under Abdel’s skeptical gaze, suddenly intimidated. He glanced at Marinette and Alya, seeking for encouragement._

_‘Yeah,’ he managed when the girls smiled at him. ‘A tin can telephone can do.’_

_‘But don’t you need to press the tin can against your ear to be heard?’ Another boy commented._

_Lucas’ face dropped. He hadn’t thought that through._

_‘Maybe we could find a way to amplify the sound that reaches the tin can,’ Alya supplied._

_‘Or amplify the sound that comes out,’ Marinette completed._

Chat stared at the cobbled can, top cut to allow the sound to resonate from it. The pieces of the puzzle were quickly falling into place. He turned towards the Akuma, and although the mask covered their face, he could easily guess that they were putting two and two together as well.

They growled, and Chat didn’t see the hit until he felt it, their baton crashing against his ribcage with such strength that it sent him flying backwards. He gasped at the flash of pain that blinded him for a second, despite the fact his suit kept him from being bruised, and he landed on the other side of the playground, near the pathway Marinette had led them through earlier.

He groaned at the feeling of the gravel against the back of his head when he hit the ground.

“What are these?” The Akuma shouted. “You’re trying to trick us, Chat Noir.”

Chat shook his head, a thousand stars blurring his sight for a second as he sat up. Her turned his head, and his eyes widened when he recognised Marinette standing at the entrance of the pathway. She was pressing a finger against her lips, ushering him to stay silent, and he couldn’t help but blink in stupefaction.

 _What is she doing there_ , he thought, astonishment giving way to frustration at the thought she hadn’t listened to him.

Of course she hadn’t.

He knew that.

Why he did? He couldn’t really tell.

His attention was switched back towards the Akuma as they walked towards him, gravel crunching under their feet.

“You find it funny to distract us that way?”

Chat glanced at Marinette who nodded at him.

He quickly made a decision.

“Well,” he declared. “It would’ve been too lonely otherwise.”

The Akuma let out a strange sound, something like a scoff and they pointed their baton towards him like a wand. The red paw symbol illuminated, like a wave of power charging and he held his breath.

“I don’t understand why there should be a difference between you and us,” the creature said with its strange double-voice. “Everyone should be free to be a hero whenever they want. No one should look up at you.”

They turned and the shot went towards the building. A myriad of red strings exploding like ribbons of light flew in the air, seeping in the building from all the entrances; windows, doors, cracks. Then, glows of red and green started to illuminate all the windows and Marinette stared, shocked at the scene unfolding in front of her.

This was not part of the plan.

Everything went silent, and no one moved. Aside from the Akuma who turned back towards Chat, still unaware of Marinette’s presence.

“We’re Deuce and _we’re_ what Paris needs the most,” the creature spoke.

A flash of red appeared in the fog, fast, behind Deuce, and Marinette’s eyes shifted on the figure. Her heart skipped a beat: was it Tikki?

She squinted, and the gasp that escaped her lips caught Alya’s attention.

No, it wasn’t Tikki.

Right there, in the corner of the playground stood… Ladybug.

A smirk stretched the hero’s lips as she observed, crouched, Deuce. Beside Marinette, Alya inhaled sharply, and her fingers quickly found her phone, ready to film.

Ladybug was finally here.

... Except that she wasn't.

Because _Marinette_ was still here.

She shot a glance towards Chat and knew that he had spotted the red-clad hero as well. In fact, Ladybug wasn’t even looking at Deuce. She was looking at Chat, and he stared back at her, strangely speechless, hypnotised, _numb_.

He didn’t show any sign of moving, or attempt to distract the Akuma the way he always did to let Ladybug attack from behind. Marinette wondered if he recognised the Ladybug as a fake. His eyes were wide, lips parted as if he had seen a ghost, and the expression on his face was undecipherable. Relief? Shock? _Fear_?

He didn’t give Marinette the time to ponder on the true nature of it, because he quickly snapped from his trance and looked back at the enemy, lips slowly curving into the trademark smirk he always bore before mocking a foe.

Marinette's heart dropped into her stomach.

He thought it was the true Ladybug.

She opened her mouth to alert him just as he opened his.

Both were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Ladybug, watch out!”

Marinette and Chat spotted the fake Chat Noir behind Ladybug at the same time.

One second too late.

Abdel had left his hiding spot and was rushing towards the fake Ladybug. One moment he was running, the other he was pulling her with him and rolling onto the mist that hovered above the ground.

They disappeared into the haze almost instantly and Marinette felt her heart stop.

He thought that the fake Chat Noir was going to attack Ladybug.

 _The fake Ladybug_.

Marinette ran after him. “Abdel!”

Chat made a move to follow her, but suddenly, he was pinned on the ground by something- or someone. His eyes widened when he was met with his own.

“What-”

A claw found its way to his chin and the fake Chat Noir smirked, forcing Chat to swallow the bitter taste of déjà-vu that filled his mouth at the memory of Copycat. He growled and kicked the copy aside.

“Marinette!” He shouted in the fog.

“I’m here!” Marinette answered, though nowhere to be seen or located. “Chat, they’re all fake! And there are a lot of them!”

“I know! But stay where you are, I’m coming!”

“No, I need to find Abdel,” she insisted, voice already stifled as she seemed to move away.

“MARINETTE.”

She didn’t answer, and Chat let out a frustrated sigh. Worry immediately started coursing through his veins, and he ran a nervous tongue over his lips.

 _Where’s Ladybug?_ he stewed as he let his eyes wander around him. They fell on a trio of Ladybugs, standing where the fog was the faintest, and he suppressed the urge to click his tongue. _Oh right, she’s everywhere._

The trio laughed, and he winced at the sound of their giggle. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the right one.

One of them looked at him, and when he met her blue eyes, their familiarity struck him, but something just didn’t quite click right.

* * *

 The fog had grown colder, more consistent. It had settled on the playground like a vaporous veil, and Marinette couldn't make out more than blurred shadows around her.

“Abdel, are you here?” She asked for the fourth time, voice low so as to not attract the Akuma.

The boy didn’t answer, and she felt a heavy feeling of worry settle in her stomach. Just what could have the copy done to him?

A shadow ran in front of her, and she froze. The figure stopped for a second, looking around, and she made out the fluorescent glim of his eyes in the smog. She stilled, didn’t dare breathe until the pseudo-Chat moved away. Once she was relatively out of danger, she let out a sharp breath and continued walking.

The Akuma had visibly transformed the whole building, and considering the size of the construction, the number of minions they had gathered was consequent. Marinette and her friends were circled with countless Ladybugs and Chat Noirs whose sole purpose was to herd everyone towards Deuce.

She heard Chat call out for her from somewhere behind, and she bit her lip to keep herself from answering. She couldn’t give away her position, or afford mistaking him for someone else. She had to find Abdel on her own.

Abdel who remained silent as the grave.

She hoped that nothing bad had happened to him, but the single thought made her walk faster. What if he had become a Chat Noir clone as well?

Deuce was silent, nowhere to be seen, and Marinette couldn’t help but be wary of what the duo was concocting. She looked at her right, and the thought that she could easily run towards the building and get Tikki crossed her mind. It could be easy, indeed, and much more effective.

She moved forward, but suddenly, an arm grabbed her elbow. She froze and immediately twisted the owner’s arm to immobilise them, hero instinct controlling every single one of her reflexes as she did so.

“Let me go,” a familiar voice grunted.

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Driss?”

“Who else?” The man replied, and the girl hurriedly released her grip.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered.

“My _brother_ is in danger because of _you_. I forbid you to even ask me this.”

She blushed, and thanked the fog somewhere for partly hiding her face. It _was_ her fault Abdel had been in danger. She had willingly risked his safety.

Driss spoke again, breaking the settling silence. “Help me find him.”

She looked up, and his voice sounded worried, sad… Scared. A tone she didn’t expect from him.

_He’s not very courageous._

She didn’t answer, and he cleared his throat. “Please I just-” He fell silent for a second, and she felt him fidget uncomfortably before he finally cleared his throat. “Nevermind. I’ll find him on my own.”

“Wait,” Marinette exclaimed, snapping out of her first-hand surprise. “I’ll help you. It’s my responsibility too.”

And just like this, they were walking, one next to the other, silent in the fog, with only the snicker of the clones in the distance. The grass under their feet stifled the noise of their movements, and the fog had a strange smell of smoke that Marinette didn’t like.

She had a thousand questions for the man next to her, a thousand of topics to fill the silence that grew more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. But she never opened her mouth to talk. Discretion was key with the task at hand, and as long as they could find Abdel safe and sound, she didn’t mind the silence. A small voice murmured in her head that she shouldn’t help him, that it was a choice she was going to regret, but she brushed it off quickly.

Suddenly, she felt something heavy push her backwards and she gasped. She opened her eyes and saw her own blue eyes staring down at her, a smirk stretching her own features, hidden behind their dotted mask. Marinette opened her mouth, stared wide-eyed at her Ladybug clone. It was strange, it was identical to her, and yet not exactly _her_.

That was when she saw it.

The earrings’ dots weren’t the right pattern.

Instead of the usual five dots, there were only three vertical dots.

And it struck Marinette that Agnès and Pierre were recreating clones that were as twisted and inexact as their own theories.

A kick violently pushed the copy away and Marinette looked up, meeting Driss’ dark gaze.

The Ladybug shrieked.

“How dare you?” The clone growled, and her voice was so identical to Marinette’s that it took the ravenette aback for a second.

Driss reached out for Marinette, and pulled her up as soon as she put her hand in his. “Come.”

They bolted away from the fake hero, Driss leading their blind race. He avoided bumps and bins he knew by heart and Marinette silently thanked her luck for sending him to her when he pulled her away from a bench. Another Ladybug copy appeared in front of them, and they took a sharp turn to avoid her.

Finally, they stopped behind the building and when Driss finally let go of her hand, Marinette glanced around, searching for any sign of doubles. They were in a sort of tiled hall, opened on the street, with dumpsters here and there, and leading to the inside of the building with a tightly closed iron door. Tags covered the blue walls over here too, dripping inscriptions blending with masterpieces of urban art and there was a distinct smell of rotten garbage too, which, mixed with that of the fog gave a result Marinette was sure she didn’t like. She wrinkled her nose but didn’t say further. After all, they were relatively safe here and she had seen worse in all the time she had been Ladybug.

The area was deserted, save for a squirrel and two stray cats. If there had been anyone, they had probably turned to clones already. She turned her gaze towards Driss, and let out a sigh.

“Thanks for the save,” she heaved.

He didn’t respond immediately, and Marinette wondered if he had heard her. She opened her mouth to speak again when he interrupted her.

“This sucks,” he grumbled.

“I thought you had seen worse,” Marinette couldn’t help commenting. She bit her lip as soon as the words escaped her lips, immediately regretting her snap when he looked back at her.

If he was offended, he didn’t show it. Instead, he glanced around, checking once again the safety of their hiding spot. He didn’t speak, visibly scheming something from the way he suddenly seemed lost in the contemplation of a particularly dirty dumpster. After a while, he plunged his hand in his jacket pocket and took out a gun. Marinette inhaled.

Then, it happened.

A single scream.

Strident, terrified, and which could only belong to one person.

Marinette met Driss’ gaze for a second before he scurried towards the source, instantly forgetting all the possible schemes he was making up. She didn’t bother because her legs obeyed the same instinct and she followed him without a second thought. Her heart had stopped when the shriek had cut through the air, but now it was beating so fast she could hear it hammering against her ears.

They found Abdel halfway between the hall and the playground. He stared at them with incredibly huge, terrified brown eyes, and Marinette felt the blood freeze in her veins when she met the malicious glint of familiar fluorescent eyes.

The Chat Noir was holding the boy against him, right arm entrapping his neck to keep him from running away. A devilish grin split his face at the sight of the duo, as if he had been expecting them to come rushing, and the familiarity of the smirk unsettled Marinette. Next to her, Driss was paralysed, eyes wide in shock. He didn’t seem to be planning on moving, too frozen, too out of it, and Marinette took a step forward in his place. The clone’s forearm pressed harder against Abdel’s throat.

“You might not want to come closer, no,” he purred.

He raised his left hand- _the real Chat was right-handed_ , and snapped his fingers. Her eyes widened when black particles gathered around the clone’s gloved hand, spinning to form the pitch-black cloud of a Cataclysm. His smirk grew wider and he brought his hand closer to Abdel’s face.

“Now you’ll do me the favour to follow me, rig-”

His words trailed off when a can hit his cursed hand and disintegrated to his feet. When Marinette came running and punched him, his eyes went wide and he let go of Abdel for a second. Enough for the boy to escape his grip.

Marinette’s foot then went flying and collided with his ribcage just as he tried to comprehend the turn of events. He fell to the ground with a thud and looked up at the girl above him.

“What were you saying about me not moving closer, kitty,” she hummed, the smirk leaving the clone’s face to settle on hers.

Suddenly, she felt something burning wrap around her wrist, tightening so quick it tore a gasp from her. She looked down and only had time to distinguish the wire that cut through her skin before the yoyo sent her flying backwards.

“Now, still trying to throw a wrench in our gears, brat?”

Marinette looked up and the distinct figure of Deuce appeared before her, landing soundlessly on the asphalt. They slightly moved their right hand and Marinette couldn’t suppress a wince as the wire tightened around her wrist.

“Maybe you’ll agree more once we transform you,” their inhuman voice went on.

“How about no?”

Deuce turned their head, but they were too late to avoid the spinning baton that had been sent flying towards them. It hit their hand and the yoyo loosened its grip on Marinette just as it collided with the ground. She turned her head and felt a surge of gratefulness when her eyes met Chat’s slender figure at the entrance of the alleyway, arm stretched to catch his weapon.

“This is between you and me, Deuce,” he declared.

Deuce had no eyes, but Marinette could’ve sworn they squinted in disgust. With a single gesture, five clones came rushing, joined by the previous Chat Noir copy Marinette had taken down. Another movement, and they all jumped on Chat, pinning him to the ground.

“We’ll play later, minou,” the Akuma murmured before turning again towards Marinette, towering over her like a divine retribution. They raised their baton, and she rolled away just as it came crashing on the ground right where she had been lying seconds ago.

Swiftly, she got up and started racking her brain for a plan. Her eyes fell on Driss, who hadn’t moved from his spot if not to collect his brother in his arms when Abdel had come running to him. His eyes were wide, and betrayed his desire to be somewhere else completely despite the fact his legs refused to obey. She glanced back at Deuce who was gathering their yoyo back from the ground, and felt her throat run dry.

A few feet from her, there were six clones waiting for the right moment to give free reign to their powers. In front of her stood a relatively incapacitated Driss and traumatised Abdel.

Chat couldn’t help her.

Tikki wasn’t here.

She was alone.

But the plan came to her like a raging wave, and she felt her lips curl mischievously.

“I’m afraid your playtime with me will be short, fakes,” she threw, drawing the attention of the Akuma.

Marinette knew they were fuming from the way their hands tightened around their weapons. She ran away just as the yoyo violently hit the ground below her feet.

The alleyway was rather narrow, with a low brick wall on one side, and the building on the other. Although she had no use of the trees that looked onto the alleyway from behind the wall, the side of the building carried a few air conditioner fans that hung below the windows. They were tightly screwed to the wall, but Marinette had to make at least one of them fall.

“What now? You can’t even get a civilian like me?” She teased, mimicking Chat’s favourite strategy.

“You’re not funny, little girl,” the Akuma growled. “Too mindless.”

“Say the ones who consider food tastes an actual argument to consolidate their wobbly theory,” she retorted before running towards the clones.

The baton cut the air and landed on two clones who screamed in pain. Deuce brushed them off.

“You know what? The President probably likes salad too,” she went on.

Another clone joined the first two.

Marinette set herself in the red of the freed copies, and Deuce was now right under the fan.

“What is it, Deuce,” she said. “Still can't catch me? How about you send your clones after me?”

On cue, a Chat Noir jumped towards her, Cataclysm enveloping their two hands. But the Akuma's baton was quicker, and the clone went flying…

“It’s between you and us.”

… Right into the fan.

The wall behind the air conditioner disappeared in a patch of rust, and the white cubicle started dangling into the void, right above Deuce.

“DRISS, SHOOT INTO THE CABLES,” Marinette shouted.

Miraculously, or thanks to her luck, Driss snapped out of his trance and, despite a second of hesitation, complied.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

The fourth sealed the Akuma’s fate and the air conditioner came crashing on Deuce in a cacophony of twisted iron and creaking wires. The hit wasn’t enough to kill the Akuma, hopefully, but it knocked them out.

In the meantime, Chat had freed himself from the clones, and before Marinette realised what she had done, he grabbed her forearm and pulled her after him. He ran fast, heels quickly clicking against the ground at each of his steps. Taking a sharp turn, they entered the relatively safe haven of the court Marinette and Driss had been in moments ago and Chat stopped to observe the small yard. He located the iron door and, with an unceremonious swing of his baton, blew it open.

The building was silent inside, and warmer than the fog outside, which was a much welcome feeling against Marinette’s frozen cheeks. Chat let go of Marinette’s arm and, a clawed finger pressed against his lips, ushered her to stay silent as he checked the safety of the area. She didn’t move, only watched him as he walked down the narrow corridor that led to the main hall, devoid of any doors and potential doubles that would come barging from apartments.

In the far end, Marinette could make out the now familiar tagged tiles and mould, and she felt her heart skip a beat at the thought that Tikki was a few floors above her head.

Chat came back, but a strange mix of relief and frustration was painted over his face. He pulled out his baton and with a quick swipe of his finger, the side of the stick slid to reveal a phone.

The way his nose wrinkled said a lot about the answer he got when he brought the device to his ear, but he still let out a discontented sigh and said to no one in particular:

“She’s not picking up.”

Despite herself, Marinette cleared her throat.

“Have faith in her, she’ll come.”

He stared at her with those emerald eyes of his, and she felt something bubble in her stomach without quite being able to pinpoint the feeling. A sort of puzzle piece she couldn’t quite place.

There was some sort of unsettling broken hope in the pool of his gaze, glinting still, and suddenly his eyes felt a lot more familiar than they should’ve.

She spoke again before the blush spread through her cheeks. “In fact, I think you should go back to the Akuma. We left Driss and Abdel there and… I’m worried about them, Chat.”

Her worry was genuine, and Chat seemed to notice the way her eyes were suddenly clouded with concern, because his eyelids dropped, and he opened his mouth to say something...

He snapped his jaw shut without a word.

“I promise I’ll run straight to the grocery shop from here and not move anymore," she heard herself say.

Chat was weighing the pros and cons now, lips pursing as he focused his gaze on an imaginary stain on the wall. He was hesitating.

Marinette swallowed. She _needed_ him to trust her, and leave her alone.

“Chat, you can’t leave the battlefield to look after one civilian,” she tried again. “Whatever happens, Ladybug’s Lucky Charm will fix everything anyway, but _you_ need to be there in order to help her.”

He looked at his phone again, and Marinette felt like she was gaining ground.

“Besides, Ladybug needs you to be there, to tell her that there are clones everywhere. She’s going to mistake you for a copy.”

That seemed to finally convince him, and he looked back at her. He inhaled, but nodded after a moment.

“Promise me that you’ll be careful, Marinette,” he said, and his eyes held such true concern that Marinette felt herself nod back without realising.

“I promise.”

He stood there for another full before finally leaving. He closed the door behind him, and the sound of his running steps on the asphalt was drowned behind the iron of the door.

For a second, Marinette couldn't move, eyes fixed on the iron door even after she couldn't hear him anymore. A strange vice-like feeling was clamping her heart, her throat felt tight, and she didn't know why.

At last, she let out a breath, turned, and bolted up the stairs.

_Tikki, I’m coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11k hits over here on ao3, I am screaming.  
> I also received a whole bunch of fanart for the fic last week? Amazing comments? Incredible messages? And I am screaming so loud? You guys are /amazing/ and you clearly don't know how happy you're making me.  
> So special thanks to qookyquiche, green-nonsense and kuabia for drawing my story! I don't have the links over there but? I promise I'll add them later.  
> FANART MAKES ME JUST SO HAPPY AND STUTTERING AND SPEECHLESS AND I DON'T CARE IF YOU THINK YOUR WORK IS UGLY BECAUSE IT DEFINITELY NOT AND NEVER WILL.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who never stop supporting me, by commenting and reviewing every week with this incredible excitement of yours. They make me smile everytime I re-read and re-read them, because I do, endlessly. They're such an intense source of motivation and confidence, and I don't have words to explain how grateful I am.
> 
> A huge thanks to arouria for always beta-reading me in record time and helping me out in a way I just couldn't explain completely without taking at least half of this page. Thanks to Adrien (mrjapsgedudel on tumblr!) for helping me out when God knows I was struggling with physics.
> 
> -Winkwonks furiously- Yes you guessed it, Ladynoir is back on track for the next chapter and I /can't/ wait for it to be posted!  
> As always, stay awesome and enjoy the new poll :)
> 
> What did you think of Tikki-less Marinette?
> 
> PS: Chat perché (in case you squinted at the word) is your regular off-ground tag game, but pun obliged, I decided to use the French word.


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